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PSYCHOLOGY 



AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF THE STRUCTURE AND 
FUNCTION OF HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS 




BY 

JAMES ROWLAND ANGELL 

Head of the Department of Psychology in the University 

of Chicago 




NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

1904 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

DEC ?.6 1904 
f. ©opyriifht Entry 

euss cu XX& Noi 

COPY A. 






Copyright, 1904, 

BY 

Henry Holt and Company 



PREFACE 

Psychologists have hitherto devoted the larger part of 
their energy to investigating the structure of the mind. Of 
late, however, there has been manifest a disposition to deal 
more fully with its functional and genetic phases. To deter- 
mine how consciousness develops and how it operates is felt to 
be quite as important as the discovery of its constituent ele- 
ments. This book attempts to set forth in an elementary 
way the generally accepted facts and principles bearing upon 
these adjacent fields of psychological inquiry, so far as they 
pertain to the mind of man. 

Inasmuch as i^ is mental activity, rather than mental 
structure, which has immediate significance for thought and 
conduct, it is hoped that students of philosophy, as well as 
students of education, may find the book especially useful. 
The author has had the interests of such students constantly 
in mind. 

The differing conditions under which introductory courses 
in psychology are offered at various institutions render it 
desirable that a text-book should be adaptable to more than 
one set of circumstances. The present text has accordingly 
been arranged with the purpose of permitting considerable 
flexibility in the emphasis laid upon the several portions of 
the subject. This fact accounts for an amount of repetition 
and cross-reference which otherwise would have been re- 
garded as unnecessary. 

To my teachers. Professor John Dewey and Professor Wil- 
liam James, I owe much of what may be found good in these 



m 



iv PREFACE 

• 

pages. Were not the list too long to recount, I should gladly 
express my obligations to the many other psychologists by 
whom I have been influenced in the formation of my views. 
I am much indebted for advice and suggestion to a number 
of my colleagues in the University of Chicago, especially to 
Professor H. H. Donaldson, Professor A. W. Moore, and Dr. 
J. B. Watson. My wife has given me great assistance in 
the preparation of my manuscript. 

For the use of a number of illustrations acknowledgments 
are due to the following authors and publishers: William 
James; D. Appleton & Co., publishers of Barker's "The 
Nervous System'^; W. B. Saunders & Co., publishers of " The 
American Text-Book of Physiology '^ ; Walter Scott, Ltd., 
publishers of Donaldson's '' Growth of the Brain '' ; John 
Murray, publisher of McKendrick and Snodgrass' "Physi- 
ology of the Sense Organs '' ; and G. P. Putnam's Sons, pub- 
lishers of Loeb's " Physiology of the Brain." 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTEE I PAGE 

The Problems and Methods of Psychology . . 1 

CHAPTEE II 

The Psychophysical Organism and the Nervous 

System 11 

CHAPTEE III 

A Sketch of the General Eelations of Conscious- 
ness to N"eural Action 47 

CHAPTEE IV 
Attention, Discrimination, and Association . . 64 

CHAPTEE V 
Sensation . 91 

CHAPTEE VI 
Perception 122 

CHAPTEE VII 

The Perception of Spatial and Temporal Eela- 
tions 141 

CHAPTEE VIII 
Imagination 161 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE IX PAGE 

Memory 184 

CHAPTEE X 
The Consciousness of Meaning and the Forma- 
tion OF Concepts 203 

CHAPTEE XI 
-/ Judgment and the Elements of Eeasoning . . 223 

CHAPTEE XII 
The Forms and Functions of Eeasoning . . . > 235 

CHAPTEE XIII 

The Affective Elements of Consciousness . . . 256 

CHAPTEE XIV 
Feeling and the General Principles of Affective 

Consciousness . 270 

CHAPTEE XV 
Eeflex Action and Instinct 283 

CHAPTEE XVI 
The Important Human Instincts . . . . • . . 294 

CHAPTEE XVII 
Nature of Impulse 310 

CHAPTEE XVIII 
The Nature of Emotion 315 



CONTENTS YU 

CHAPTER XIX PAGE 

General Theory of Emotion 325 

CHAPTER XX 
Elementary Features of Volition 340 

CHAPTER XXI 

Relation of Volition to Interest, Effort, and 

Desire 362 

CHAPTER XXII 
Character and the Will 376 

CHAPTER XXIII 
The Self 383 



PSYCHOLOGY 



CHAPTEE I 
PEOBLEMS AND METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 

Definition of Psychology. — Psychology is commonly de- 
fined as the science of consciousness. It is the business of 
a science systematically to describe and explain the phenom- 
ena with which it is engaged. Chemistry, physics, and the 
various branches of biology all attempt to deal in this man- 
ner with some special portion of the facts or processes of 
nature. Mental facts, or facts of consciousness, constitute 
the field of psychology. 

The Nature of Consciousness. — Consciousness we can only 
define in terms of itself. Sensations, ideas, pains, pleasures, 
acts of memory, imagination, and will — these may serve to 
illustrate the experiences we mean to indicate by the term; 
and our best endeavour to construct a successful definition 
results in some such list, of which we can only say : ^' These 
taken together are what I mean by consciousness.^^ A 
psychological treatise is really an attempt to furnish the 
essentials for such a catalogue. 

It is generally maintained that despite our difficulty in 
framing a satisfactory definition of consciousness, wa can 
at least detect one or two of its radical differences from 
the physical objects which make up the rest of our cosmos. 



2 PSYCHOLOGY 

These latter always possess position and extension^ i. e.y they 
occupy space. Psychical facts, or events, never do; on the 
other hand they possess one characteristic vrhich, so far as 
we know, is wholly wanting to physical facts, in that they 
exist for themselves, A man not only has sensations and 
ideas, he knows that he has them. A stone or other physical 
object has no such knowledge of its own existence or of- its 
own experiences. Yet, whatever may be the value of these 
distinctions, we need entertain no real fear of encountering 
anj^ serious misapprehension of the inner nature of conscious- 
ness, for each one of us experiences it every day for himself 
and each is thus fitted to discuss it with some measure of 
accuracy. 

Former Definitions of Psychology. — Formerly psychology 
was often defined as the science of the soul. But the word 
soul generally implies something above and beyond the 
thoughts and feelings of which we are immediately conscious ; 
and as it is these latter phenomena with which psychology is 
primarily engaged, this definition is now rarely used by care- 
ful writers. Psychology is also defined at times as the 
science of mind. The objection to this definition is that the 
word mind ordinarily implies a certain continuity, unity, and 
personality, which is, indeed, characteristic of normal human 
beings ; but which may, for all we can see, be wholly lacking 
in certain unusual psychical experiences like those of in- 
sanity, or those of dream states, and may be wanting at times 
in animals. All consciousness everywhere, normal or abnor- 
mal, human or animal, is the subject matter which the 
psychologist attempts to describe and explain; and no defini- 
tion of his science is wholly acceptable which designates more 
or less than just this. 

The Procedure of the Psychologist. — In his description of 
conscious processes the psychologist attempts to point out the 
characteristic features of each distinguishable group of facts 
and of each member of such groups, and to show how they 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 3 

differ from one another. Thus, for example, the general 
group knoTVTi as '' sensations ^^ would be described and 
marked off from, the groups- known as " feelings ^^ ; and the 
peculiarities of each form of sensation, such as the visual 
and tactile forms, would be described and distinguished from 
one another and from those belonging to the auditory form. 
The psychologist's explanations consist chiefly in showing (1) 
how complex psychical conditions are made up of simpler 
ones, (2) how the various psychical groups which he has 
analysed grow and develop, and finally (3a) how these various 
conscious processea^are connected with physiological activi- 
ties, and (3b) with objects or events in the social and physi- 
cal world constituting the environment. 

The Fields of Psychology. — In this book we shall be pri- 
maril)(^concerned with the facts of normal human conscious- 
ness, its constitution, its modes of operation, and its devel- 
opment. But we shall avail ourselves, wherever possible, of 
useful material from the allied fields of child psychology, 
abnormal psychology, social psychology, and animal psy- 
chology. 

Child psychology is occupied with the study of the mental 
processes of infants and young children, with special refer- 
ence to the facts of growth. Abnormal psychology has to do 
(1) with the study of the unusual phases of conscious proc- 
ess, such as are met with in trance, hallucinations, hypno- 
tism, etc.; and is concerned (2) with the more definitely 
diseased forms of mentality, such as characterise insanity. 
Social psychology, in its broadest sense, has to do mainly with 
the psychological principles involved in those expressions of 
mental life which take form in social relations, organisations, 
and practices, e. g.^ the mental attributes of crowds and mobs 
as contrasted with the mental characteristics of the indi- 
viduals constituting them. A branch of social psychology, 
often known as folk psychology, or race psychology, is con- 
cerned with the psychical attributes of peoples, especially 



•iis=i 



4 PSYCHOLOGY 

those of primitive groups as contrasted with civilised nations. 
Animal psychology is engaged with the study of conscious- 
ness^ wherever, apart from man, its presence can be detected 
throughout the range of organic life. The four last-men- 
tioned branches of psychology taken together are sometimes 
spoken of as comparative psychology, in distinction from the 
psychology which describes facts concerning normal adult 
human beings. Those phases of psychology which touch 
particularly upon the phenomena of development, whether 
racial or individual, are sometimes spoken of as genetic psy- 
chology. ^ 

The Methods of Psychology. (1) Introspection. — The 
fundamental psychological method is introspection. Intro- 
spection means looking inward, as its derivation indicates. 
As a psychological method it consists simply in the direct 
examination of one's own mental processes. Much mystery 
has been made of the fact that the mind can thus stand oif 
and observe its own operations, and criticism has been lav- 
ishly devoted to proving the impossibility of securing scien- 
tific knowledge in any such fashion as this. But it is an un- 
deniable fact that by means of memory we are made aware 
of our mental acts, and we can trace in this manner by care- 
ful and systematic observation many of the rudimentary facts 
and principles peculiar to human consciousness. When a 
number of us cooperate in such introspective observation, we 
greatly augment the exactness and the breadth of our results, 
and the accepted doctrines of psychology have actually been 
established by the successive observations of many investi- 
gators in much this manner. 

(2) Direct Objective Observation. — Moreover, we are able 
to supplement introspection by immediate objective observa- 
tion of other individuals. It is thus possible, for example, 
to detect much which is most characteristic of the emotions, 
such as anger and fear, by watching the actions of persons 
about us and noting their expressions, their gestures, etc. 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 5 

The facts which we thus obtain must of course be interpreted 
in terms of our direct knowledge of our own experience, 
gained introspectively. But such observation of others often 
makes us sensitive to psj^chological processes in ourselves, 
which we should otherwise overlook. Finally, it is clear that 
our psychological facts, whether gained from observation of 
ourselves, or of others, before they can become of scientific 
value, must be made the subject of careful reflection and 
systematic arrangement ; otherwise they would be purely hap- 
hazard, disconnected fragments, with no more meaning than 
any other collection of odds and ends. The need of such 
orderly reasoned arrangement is no more and no less true of 
the psychological facts gained by observations of others, or 
by introspection, than it is of physical facts discovered in 
any realm of science. ^The facts of gravity had been noticed 
again and again, but it required the ordering mind of a 
Newton to set them in intelligent array. Whenever we 
speak of direct observation, or of introspection, as methods, 
we shall understand, therefore, this systematic and scientific 
use of the terms. All the other psychological methods which 
we shall mention are simply developments of introspection, 
either in the direction of systematising and perfecting its 
emplo}rtnent, or of applying its results interpretatively in 
fields not open to its immediate application; for example, 
the field of animal consciousness. 

(3) Experiment. — Experimental psychology, sometimes 
spoken of as " the new psychology ,^^ or the " laboratory psy- 
chology,^^ is perhaps the most vigorous and characteristic 
psychological method of the present day. It is simply an in- 
genious system for bringing introspection under control, so 
that its results can be verified by different observers, just as 
the result of a chemical experiment may be verified by anyone 
who will repeat the conditions. In every branch of science 
an experiment consists in making observations of phenomena 
under conditions of control, so that one may know just what 



6 PSYCHOLOGY 

causes are at work in producing the results observed. A 
psychological experiment is based on precisely the same 
principle. 

(4) Physiological Psychology and (5) Psychophysics. — 

Physiological psychology and psychophysics/ which are both 
closely connected, in spirit and in fact^ with experimental 
psychologj^^ are especially devoted to investigating the rela- 
tions between consciousness on the one hand^ and the nervous 
system and the physical world on the other. Much of physi- 
ological psychology, and all of psychophysics, is experi- 
mental so far as concerns the methods employed. They both 
furnish information supplementary to that gathered by 
ordinary introspection. 

The Psychologist's Standpoint. — In our study of mental 
processes we shall adopt the biological j)oint of view just now 
dominant in psychology, and regard consciousness, not as a 
metaphysical entity to be investigated apart from other 
things, but rather as one among many manifestations of 
organic life, to be understood properly only when regarded in 
connection with life phenomena. We shall discover, as we go 
on, abundant reason for the belief that conscious processes 
and certain nervous processes are indissolubly bound up with 
one another in the human being. But at this point, without 
attempting to justify the assertion, we may lay it down as a 
basal postulate that the real human organism is a psychophys- 
ical organism, and that the mental portion of it is not to be 
, completely or correctly apprehended without reference to 
the physiological portion. The psychophysical organism 
is, moreover, a real unit. The separation of the mirid from 
the body which we commonly make in thinking about them 
is a separation made in behalf of some one of our theoretical 
or practical interests, and as such, the separation is often 
serviceable. In actual life experience, however, the two 
things are never separated. Therefore, although our primary 
task is to analyse and explain mental facts, we shall attempt 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 7 

to do this in closest possible connection with their accom- 
panying physiological processes. 

Our adoption of the biological point of yiew^ while it im- 
plies no disrespect for metaphysics, will mean not only that 
we shall study consciousness in connection with physiological 
processes wherever possible, but it will also mean that we 
shall regard all the operations of consciousr^ess — all our 
sensations, all our emotions, and all our acts of will — as so 
many expressions of organic adaptations to our environment, 
an environment which we must remember is social as well 
as physical. To the biologist an organism represents a de- 
vice for executing movements in response to the stimulations 
and demands of the environment. In the main these move- 
ments are of an organically beneficial character, otherwise the 
creature would perish. Mind seems to be the master device 
by means of which these adaptive operations of organic life 
may be made most perfect. We shall consequently attempt to 
see in what particulars the various features of consciousness 
contribute to this adaptive process. Let it not be supposed 
that such a point of view will render us oblivious, or insensi- 
tive, to the higher and more spiritual implications of con- 
sciousness. On the contrary, we shall learn to see these 
higher implications with their complete background, rather 
than in detachment and isolation. 

Psychology and Natural Science. — In one important par- 
ticular the method of psychology follows the procedure of the 
natural sciences, such as physics, botany, and geology. Psy- 
chology takes for itself a certain definite domain, i. e., con- 
sciousness as a life process. Moreover, it starts out with cer- 
tain assumptions, or postulates, as they are called, about its 
subject matter, which it refuses to challenge. The chemist, 
for example, never stops to inquire whether matter really 
exists or is simply an illusion. He assumes its reality with- 
out question, and forthwith goes about his business. So the 
psychologist assumes in a common-sense way the reality of 



8 PSYCHOLOGY 

mind and the reality of matter. ISTor does he question that 
mind can know matter. These assumptions prevent the 
necessity of his untangling the metaphysical puzzles which 
are involved at these points^ and leave him free to investigate 
his field in a purely empirical way. He also attempts^ 
wherever possible, to emulate the natural scientist's use of 
the idea of causation. Our most reliable forms of knowledge 
about nature are based upon our knowledge of cause and 
effect relations. A great deal of our chemical knowledge is 
in this way exceedingly precise and exact; whereas the lack 
of such knowledge renders much of our acquaintance with dis- 
ease extremely superficial and unreliable. 

The subject matter of psychology evidently brings it into 
a distinctly universal relation to all the other sciences, for 
these sciences are severally engaged in the development of 
knowledge, and the knowledge-process is itself one of the 
subjects in which psychology is most interested. 

Psychology and Biology.— Inasmuch as psychology is oc- 
cupied with life phenomena, it is clearly most nearly related 
to the biological sciences. Indeed^ as a natural science it 
obviously belongs to the biological group. This relationshi 3 
is as close in fact as it is in theory. The modern psychologist 
makes frequent use of material furnished him by the anat- 
omist, the physiologist, the zoologist, and the alienist, and 
he gives them in return, when he can, such psychological 
facts as they find it necessary to employ. 

Psychology and Philosophy, — Psychology has developed 
historically out of philosophy, and although it is now in many 
ways practically independent, its relations with philosophy 
are necessarily very intimate. The connection is particularly 
close with those branches of philosophy commonly called 
normative, i, 6., ethics, logic, and aesthetics. These inquiries 
are primarily concerned with questions of right and wrong, 
truth and error, beauty and ugliness. It is evident that the 
profitable discussion of such problems must involve a know- 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 9 

ledge of the mental operations employed when we make a 
right or wrong choice, when we reason falsely or truly, when 
we experience pleasure in listening to music, etc. In a sense, 
therefore, psychology furnishes the indispensable introduc- 
tion to these several philosophical disciplines. It affords an 
acquaintance with the mental processes w^hich lead respec- 
tively to conduct, to knowledge, and to the creation and 
appreciation of art. It thus enables an intelligent appre- 
hension of the problems which arise in these spheres, and 
furnishes much of the material essential for their solution. 
A similar thing is true, though in a less conspicuous and 
obvious way, of the relation of psychology to metaphysics, 
and to that form of metaphysical inquiry which formerly was 
known as rational psychology. 

By rational psychology was commonly understood the in- 
quiry into the conditions rendering the existence of conscious- 
ness possible. Evidently these inquiries, i, e., rational psychol- 
ogy and metaphysics, together with what is known as 
epistemology, or the theory of knowledge, are engaged with 
just such problems as underlie the assumptions of psychology 
and the natural sciences, e, g,y the reality of matter, its inde- 
pendence of mind, etc. It is on this account that metaphysics 
— which fundamentally represents an effort to solve the prob- 
lem of the ultimate nature of matter and mind and their rela- 
tion to one another — is said to be the science of sciences. Al- 
though metaphysics is in this sense more fundamental than 
psychology, and logically antecedent to it, it is so extensively 
concerned with mental processes that a knowledge of psy- 
chology is commonly recognised as practically indispensable 
for its effective conduct or apprehension. All these branches 
of philosophy clearly involve, as does psychology, the study 
of consciousness in a certain sense. But whereas these dis- 
tinctly philosophical disciplines are primarily interested in 
some one or another of the implications and products of 
thought processes, psychology is interested primarily in the 



~1 



10 PSYCHOLOGY 

constitution and operation of consciousness itself. We may 
question whether ultimately there are any hard and fast 
lines severing these philosophical inquiries from one another 
and from psychology. The distinctions ure perhaps rather 
practical than ultimate. One inquiry inevitably shades off 
into the others. 

Psychology and Education. — Psychology is related to 
educational theory in much the way that it is to ethics. It 
may be said to be related to actual educational procedure as 
theory is to practice. Education has as its function the 
symmetrical development of the powers of the individual. 
What the natural relation may be among these faculties, what 
are the laws of their unfolding, what the judicious methods 
for their cultivation or repression — these and a thousand 
similar practical questions can be answered by the assistance 
of psychological observation, or else not at all. The result 
which we desire to attain in our educational system must 
be, in a considerable measure, determined by the social and 
ethical ideals we have in view. But the securing of the re- 
sults, the realising of the ideals which we have set up, through 
our educational machinery — this must be accomplished, if 
we would work with true insight and not by blind experi- 
ment, through a real knowledge of human mental processes. 
We shall keep constantly before us in this book the facts, of 
growth and the facts of adaptation to the demands of ihe 
environment. Clearly these are the facts of practical signifi- 
cance for educational procedure. 



CHAPTEE II 

THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL OEGANISM AND THE 

NEEVOUS SYSTEM 

The TJnioii of the Psychical and the Physical in the 
Organism. — We shall now examine some of the evidence con- 
firmatory of our assertion in the last chapter, that conscious 
processes and physiological processes are intimately connected 
in the organism. We shall in this way discover some of the 
reasons why it is desirable for us at the outset of our study 
of mental life to learn something about the nervous system, 
to which subject we shall then devote the remaining portion 
of the chapter. 

Common observation informs us of at least two funda- 
mental types of fact concerning these mind-body relations. 
We know in this manner ( 1 ) that our consciousness or know- 
ledge of the world about us depends primarily upon the use 
of our senses. A person born blind and deaf has neither 
visual nor auditory sensations or ideas, and never can have 
so long as he remains destitute of eyes and ears. By means 
of the other senses he may be taught much about colours and 
sounds, as Helen Keller has been ; but he never can have the 
experience which j^ou or I have, when we see a colour or hear 
a sound, or when we permit a melody ^^to run through our 
heads,^^ as we say, or when we call into our minds the appear- 
ance of a friend^s face. Indeed, if a child becomes blind 
before he is five years old he commonly loses all his visual 
ideas and memories just as completely as though he had 
been born blind. There is every reason to believe that if 
we were deprived of all our senses from birth, we could never 
possess knowledge of any kind. The senses thus hold the keys 
which unlock the doors of intelligence to the mind, and the 

II 



12 PSYCHOLOGY 

senses are physical^ not mental^ things. Apparently^ there- 
fore^ the most simple and fundamental operations of con- 
sciousness are bound up with the existence and activity of 
certain bodily organs. 

Common observation also informs us (2) that the expres- 
sions of mind ordinarily take the form of muscular move- 
ments which we call acts. We hear a bell and our conscious- 
ness of the sound results in our going to open the door. We 
consider a course of action, and the outcome of our delibera- 
tion issues in the form of words or deeds, all of which con- 
sist primarily in muscular movements. Strange as it may 
appear, even keeping still involves muscular activity. It 
would accordingly seem as though the mind were hemmed in 
between the sense organs on the one hand and the muscles 
on the other. It would be a truer expression of the facts, 
however, to say that these are the tools with which the mind 
works. Through the sense organs it receives its raw material, 
and by its own operations this material is worked up and 
organised into the coherent product which we call intelli- 
gence. This intelligence is then made effective in practical 
ways through the rationally controlled action of the voluntary 
muscles. 

There are other facts of a well-known kind whose precise 
purport is, perhaps, less evident, but whose general implica- 
tion of intimate connections between mind and bodv is iden- 
tical with that of the considerations which we have just men- 
tioned. We know, for example, that blows and wounds niay 
seriously disturb consciousness, or even destroy it. The 
similar effects of many drugs, such as alcohol, ether, and 
hashish, are matters of common knowledge. Even coffee 
and tea exercise a mild influence upon our psychical mood, 
and the change in general disposition which frequently fol- 
lows indulgence in a satisfactory meal is a phenomenon 
familiar to every family circle. Bodily disease often pro- 
duces a most marked effect upon the mind, and conversely 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 13 

the different effect upon disease, of a cheerful or a depressed 
mental attitude, is a subject of frequent remark. 

When we examine the less familiar evidence offered us by 
certain branches of modern science, we find our previous im- 
pressions strongly confirmed. Thus we learn from pathology, 
the science of disease, that disordered conditions of particular 
portions of the brain tissue are accompanied by disturbances 
of definite kinds in consciousness. In this way we learn, for 
example, that the destruction or disintegration of the tissue 
of one region in the brain is followed by the loss of one's 
visual mgnories, so that one cannot recall the appearance of 
familiar objects. A similar disorder in another region costs 
one the control of certain muscles in the hand, etc. The 
science of anatomy is able to demonstrate structural connec- 
tions of nerves between these diseased parts of the brain and 
the sense organs and muscles over which consciousness has 
lost control, thus supporting the implication of the patholog- 
ical evidence already cited. Experimental physiology shows 
us, that by stimulating (either mechanically or electrically) 
certain brain areas in animals, we can produce movements of 
definite muscles, whereas by extirpating these regions we can 
at least temporarily cripple the muscles and render the will 
powerless over them. By similar excisions of other brain 
areas we can cripple definite sense organs. Thus pathology, 
anatomy, and physiology all point to the same intimate rela- 
tion of mind and body and indicate more specifically than 
the observations of every-day experience could do a fixed and 
positive relation between definite parts of the nervous system 
and such special phases of consciousness as the visual, the 
auditory, etc. 

Moreover, comparative anatomy, comparative physiology, 
and comparative psychology all converge upon another 
cognate principle, i, e., that the development of consciousness 
among various- genera and species of the organic world has 
run parallel with the development of the nervous system. 



14 PSYCHOLOGY 

Taking all these considerations into account, the deliverances 
of common sense as well as the teachings of scienc^^ it is 
easy to understand why the modern psychologist finds it judi- 
cious in his study of consciousness to leiarn all that he can 
about the nervous system, the sense organs, and the motor 
mechanism. 

The Nervous System. — It will assist us in gaining a work- 
ing idea of the nervous system to bear in mind the fact that 
its fundamental function consists in ^^ the conversion of in- 
coming sensations into outgoing movements of a kind tend- 
ing to preserve the creature/^ Creatures destitute of some 
form of nervous system are practically incapable of prompt 
and appropriate adaptation to their surroundings. Plants 
are thus in large measure the passive victims of their en- 
vironments. Injury to one part commonly produces little or 
no immediate effect upon the rest of the plant. But by means 
of its nervous system every part of an animal organism is 
brought into vital connection with every other part. 
Cooperation becomes the controlling principle in the life activ- 
ities. This cooperation, or coordination, takes the form of 
movements made in response to sensory stimulations, and the 
most highly evolved form of nervous system, such as that of 
the human being, differs from the very rudimentary forms, 
like that of the jelly fish, only in the complexity of the de- 
vices by which these stimulations and movements are con- 
nected. When we are studying the structure of this sys- 
tem, we should, then, always remember this fact about the 
coordination of sensations and movements, as the clue by 
which to interpret even its most intricate arrangements. 

The Elementary Structures. — The nervous sj^stem is 
made up of nerve cells, with their filamentous elongations 
which are called fibres. A sketch of certain common forms 
of nerve cells is shown in figures 1, 2, and 3. It will be seen 
that they are accumulations of granular protoplasmic masses 
containing a nucleus, and often within this nucleus smaller 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



15 



nucleoli, while from their edges are given off filaments of 
various forms and sizes. These filaments are outgrowths of 
the cell-body and constitute an organic part of the structure. 
The whole structure, including both fibre and cell-body, is 
nowadays called a neurone. The neurone is, therefore, the 




Fig. 1. Isolated body of a large cell from the ventral horn of the 
spinal cord of man. Multiplied 200 diameters (Donaldson 
after Obersteiner). A, axone (each cell has but one) ; D, 
dendrites ; N, nucleus with enclosures ; P, pigment spot 

real element of the nervous system. It has been estimated 
that in the nervous system of the adult human being there 
are about 3000 millions of these neurones in various stages 
of development. Their average volume is probably about 
.00033 of a cubic millimetre.* 

* We follow in this statement the conception of the nervous 
system and the terminology at present generally prevalent among 
neurologists. It must be remembered, however, that the science 
of neurology is growing with astonishing rapidity, and radical 
changes, of doctrine are consequently possible at any time. 



i6 



PSYCHOLOGY 



Certain of the fibrous protuberances are called axones or 
neurites, others are known as dendrites. The axones, as may 
be seen from figure 3, are generally smooth in their contours, 
and when they branch, the divisions commonly occur at right 
angles. Within the central system the dendrites are rougher 
and branch more gradually from one another, somewhat like 
the sticks of a fan. The fully developed axones have a 
peculiar structure, shown in figure 4. The central strand is 
known as the axis cylinder. This is a transparent mass 



\ 



\ 



a 



V 



M 











/ 



V 



50 
f 



100 



11 



P- 











Fig. 2. A group of human nerve Knells, all drawn to the same 
scale : a, small motor cell from ventral horn of the spinal 
cord in the cervical region; &, cell from the dorsal part of 
the thoracic region ; c, small cell from the top of the dorsal 
horn of the cord, thoracic region ; <?, small granules from the 
cerehellnm ; f, Purkinje's cell from same region ; g and /i, 
pyramidal cells from central regions of the cerehral cortex. 
(Donaldson after Meyei* in the "American Text- book of 
Physiology.") . -— — ^^ 

which apparently constitutes the true nerve, and conducts 
nervous impulses from sense organ to nerve centre, and back 
again from nerve centre to muscle. Outside the axis cylinder 
is a relatively thick covering known as the medullary sheath. 
This sheath generally disappears near the cell-bodies and 
also wherever the fibre terminus approaches other fibre ter- 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



17 



minals. Outside of this again there is a thin membraneous 
sheath known as the neurilemma. 

Although the cell-bodies and fibres are really parts of single 
organic cells— the neurones — their notable diilerence in 
appearance is accompanied by a distinct difference in func- 
tion. Both cell-bodies and fibres are sensitive to stimulation, 




Fro. 3. A-D, showing the phylogenetie development in a series of 
vertebrates ; a-e, the ontogenetic development of growing cells 
in a typical mammal ; in both cases only pyramidal cells 
from the cerebrum are shown ; A, frog ; B, lizard ; O, rat ; 
D, man ; a, neuroblast, or young cell, without dendrites ; &, 
commencing dendrites ; c, dendrites further developed ; (Z, 
first appearance of collateral branches ; e, further develop- 
ment of collateral and dendrites. (Donaldson after Ramon 
y Cajal.) 



are irritable^ as the physiologists say, and both possess con- 
ductivity. But whereas this exhausts the fundamental func- 
tions of the fibres, the cell-bodies are ordinarily supposed to 
possess the further capacities of reinforcing or inhibiting 



I 8 PSYCHOLOGY 

the impulses sent to them. Moreover^ the cell-bodies seem 
at times to send out nervous excitation along the fibres auto- 
matically^ without any detectable external stimulation. It 
will be seen^ therefore^ that the cell-bodies are in a sense the 





Fig. 4. Longitudinal and transverse section of medullated nerve 
fibres from the sciatic nerve of the frog. The central fibrillar 
portion is the axis cylinder. The constriction in the covering 
sheath represents a " node of Ranvier " ; such constrictions 
occur at intervals along the course of the fibre. (Barker 
after Biedermann. ) 

power centres of the nervous system^ while the fibres are in 
the main merely interconnecting mechanisms^ putting the 
several sense organs into relation (1) with the various cen- 
tres and (2) through these with the muscles. 

It is supposed that inside the central nervous system the 
axones are ordinarily employed to carry impulses away from 
the cell-bodies, whereas the dendrites probably carry im- 
pulses toward them. Outside the central system the afferent 
fibres leading to the spinal ganglia resemble axones in struc- 
ture^ and so offer apparent exceptions to this rule. In 
any event the whole nervous system is nothing but an aggrega- 
tion of neurones with the supporting tissue, called neuroglia, 
which holds th6m in place. A nervous impulse originating 
in the sensory surface of the body, for example in the retina, 
may be transmitted from one group of neurones to another, 
until finally it issues, perhaps, from the nerves of the spinal 
cord, and produces a movement of the foot. This is what 
would occur if one should step aside upon seeing a heavy 
object about to fall In this process of transmitting the 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 19 

impulse through the nervous system/ it is not necessary that 
the groups of neurones should be actually in contact with 
one another^ although this may occur. But they must at 
least be close together. Contiguity^ if not anatomical con- 
tinuity of groups of neurones^ seems to be a sine qua non of 
neural conductivity. 

The exact physical nature of neural excitement is not 
known. Various theories have been propounded in the effort 
.to identify it with recognised forms of chemical or electri- 
cal activity^ but thus far no h3^pothesis has been suggested 
which accords satisfactorily with all the facts. Meantime^ we 
speak of the nervous current, the neural disturbance or ex- 
citement, in a purely metaphorical way, to cover the facts 
which we do know, i, e., that physiological activity of a cer- 
tain kind occurs in the nervous structures, and is transmitted 
very rapidly from one point to another. In man the rate 
of this transmission is about 100 feet per second. 

Various Forms of Nervous System, — When we turn to the 
zoologist and the comparative anatomist, we are able to obtain 
certain interesting facts about the development of the ner- 
vous system throughout the or- ^ , 
ganic kingdom. Prom such r\ \ I 
sources we learn that the simplest \ ) 
types of animal organism, e. g., m \ /<) ^^ 
such protozoans as the amoeba, /^^^"""^ ^^l!)" ^ ^ 
possess no nervous system at all. Q_^^ ""^-^^"^^ 
Every part of the surface of the ^m. 5. Diagram of an 

unicellular amoeba (figure 5) is amoeba. The irregular- 

. . ly shaped mass of pro- 
capable of movement, of assmii- toplasm is shown with 

latins: food and excreting: the ^' ^^^ nucleus, and OF, 

^ ^ ^ a contractile vacuole, 

waste products. This animal's be- which expands and con- 

haviour suggests that other forms ^^^ ^* 

of tissue besides nervous tissue are sensitive and capable 

of conducting impulses. Undoubtedly this is a fact, and we 

must accordingly think of the nerves as simply specialised 



^- 



20 



PSYCHOLOGY 



forms of protoplasm in which these functions are more highly 
developed than elsewhere. In certain of the lower metazoans 
nerve cells appear with fibres extending toward the periphery 
of the body and possessing sensitive terminations. Among 

the coelenterates a very 
simple nervous system 
comes to light. In hy- 
droids this is merely a 
kind of tissue of nerve 
cells. In echinoderms we 
meet with a structure 
like that shown in figure 
6. But it is not till 
we get to such forms as 
the worms that we find 
a definite organised cen- 
tre of control^ like the 
brain or spinal cord. In 
the annulates of the 
forms there 




Fig. 6. Nervous system of a star- 
fish ; a, central nerve ring that 
surrounds the mouth ; &, periph- 
eral nerves of the arms. (After 
Loeb. ) 



worm lorms tnere is 
not only a centre corresponding to a very rudimentary brain^ 
but also one roughly corresponding to the spinal cord. (Fig- 
ures 7 and 8.) In the molluscs the development is made more 
complex by the appearance of these groups of central cells 
clustered together in several directions about the brain. (Fig- 
ure 9.) Even in the lowest forms of vertebrates, e, g., the 
acranial amphioxus, we find both a brain and cord. Passing 
from the lowest to the highest vertebrates up, for example, 
through the fishes, reptiles, and amphibians to the birds and 
mammals, we meet with every shade of variation in the 
development of the several parts of the nervous system. 
Everywhere, however, from the most primitive meta- 
zoan up to man, the general principle is one and the same — 
a mechanism for connecting sensitive surface organs with 
muscles. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



21 



_.Z1— a. 



The Gross Structures of the Human Nervous System. — If 

we were to examine the human nervous system at one period I 
of its development, we should find it a crude structure of 
tubular form, with one end enlarged, and slightly constricted 
at two zones, as shown in figures 10, 11, and 12. The walls 
of this enlarged portion 
thicken and spread out as 
they grow, and in one place 
dwindle away to a mere 
membrane. In this manner 
the various parts of the 
adult brain are formed, re- 
taining to the end the old 
tubular contours. The rem- 
nant of the cavities in the 
embryonic brain and cord 
become respectively the ven- 
tricles of the developed brain 
and the canal of the spinal 
cord. These cavities remain 
connected with one another 
and are filled with the cere- 
brospinal fluid. The surfaces 
of the brain and cord are 
closely invested with a mem- 
brane, the pia mater, carry- 
ing blood-vessels. This mem- 
brane is bathed on its outer 
surfaces by fluids. A tough, 
thick membrane, the dura 
mater, separates the pia 
mater from the bones of 
the skull and vertebrae. 




Fig. 7. The brain and a series 
of segmental ganglia of an 
annelid (Nereis) : o, supra- 
oesophageal ganglion, or brain ; 
c, commissure; u, subcesoph- 
ageal ganglion. (Loeb after 
Claparbde). 



The portion of the embryonic brain known as the fore- 



22 



PSYCHOLOGY 



&.---1I- 



brain finally develops into the great masses of the cere- 
brum. The optic thalamic which are large collections of 
nerve cells with their fibrous connections, also belonged origi- 
nally to this general region of the brain. The primitive 
mid-brain changes less in mass during growth than does 
the fore-brain, and becomes on its ui\4^r or ventral sur- 
face the crura or peduncles of the Drain, while on its 

upper ;^^ or dorsal surface it 
C becobies the corpora quad- 
ri^emina. The hind-brain 
develops in its foremost part^ 
dorsally into the cerebellum, 
and ventrally into the pons. 
In its lower portions it be- 
comes the medulla oblongata, 
upon the dorsal surface of 
which appears the fourth ven- 
tricle, with its non-nervous 
membraneous covering. The 
spinal cord undergoes the 

least profound change, as re- 

FiG. 8. Dorsal view of central . -, ^^fr.j.j.^1 contours 

nervous system of an earth- §^^^^ ^^^ external contours, 

worm ; 0, supraoesopliageal of any of the embryonic parts 

ganglion; c, commissure; tc, . ,1^ o^r^ivf^] qv^tpm 

suboesophageal ganglion; S, ^^ ^^^^ central system. 

pharynx; G, ganglia of the When we take the facts of 

ventral cord. (After Loeb.) development into account, 

therefore, it becomes evident that the various portions of the 
brain, which seem at first glance so hopelessly confused in 
their relations to one another, are nevertheless all out- 
growths of a single relatively simple structure — the tubular 
embryonic nervous system, whose walls are everywhere made 
up of neurones and their supporting tissues, the neuroglia. 
The general form of the brain is complete some time before 
birth. 

The number of neurones, the nervous element, is also com- 




THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



23 



plete at birth. But the maturity of the brain in point 
of external size is not reached until about seven 3^ears of age^ 
and development in the size and interconnections of the 
neurones goes on indefinitely^ certainly with most persons up 
to forty years of age. 

Following Ebbinghaus and others we may classify the neu- 
rones of the central nervous system in three general groups^ 
(1) the peripheral neurones^ (2) the subcortical neurones^ 
and (3) the cortical neurones. 

Peripheral Neurones.— 
The peripheral neurones^ 
so called because they lie 
outside of the central sys- 
tem and extend toward the 
periphery of the body, 
consist of the sensory cell- 
bodies and their fibrous 
prolongations which lead 
to the sensory end-organs, 
such as the rods and^ones 
of the retina, the hair 
cells of the cochlea in the 
internal ear, the touch cor- 
puscles in the skin, etc. 
(See cuts in Chapter V.) 
The cell-bodies of these 

neurones are sometimes situated near the central struc- 
tures, as in the case of the cells in the ganglia of the 
posterior roots of the spinal cord. These cells distribute 
their fibres to the skin, muscles, tendons, etc. Sometimes, 
however, they are in the neighbourhood of the sense organ, 
as in the case of the auditory nerve, which arises from 
a cell in the internal ear; the optic nerve, which has its 
cell-body in the retina, etc. The function of the peripheral 
neurones is evidently that of transmitting impulses from the 




Fig. 9. Brain of a mollusc (Se- 
pia) ; Cg, cerebral ganglion; Spg, 
supraoesopbageal ganglion ; Bg, 
buccal ganglion ; Tg, ganglia of 
tbe tentacles. (Loeb after Claus.) 



H 



PSYCHOLOGY 



sense organs in to the nervous centres, and we need discuss 
them no further at this point. 

Subcortical Neurones. — The subcortical group involves all 
the gross structures in the central system lying between the 






Figs. 10, 11, and 12. Diagrams illustrating embryological changes 
in the brain. Av, anterior vesicle, or fore-brain ; M-&, middle 
vesicle, or mid-brain ; Pv, posterior vesicle, or hind-brain ; H, 
cerebral hemispheres ; Th, thalamus ; 06, cerebellum ; Mo, 
medulla oblongata. (James after Hugenin.) 

cortices of the cerebrum and the cerebellum on the one hand 
and the peripheral neurones on the other. Their function is 
in general that of furnishing neural mechanisms for reflex 
acts and for connecting the various parts of the central system 
with one another. This can be best brought out by examining 
separately some of the more conspicuous gross structures of 
this group. After we have done this, we shall turn to the 
cortical groups, whose functions as general control centres 
we shall then discuss. 

We may first consider the spinal cord (figure 13). If we 
take a cross section of this organ, cutting through at right 
angles to its long axis, we find a structure such as is shown 
in figures 14 and 15. In the central portion, grouped about 
the spinal canal in the general shape of the letter H, is a 
great mass of cell-bodies giving a peculiar greyish colour to 
the region. Outside of this is a thick layer of white nerve 
fibres. Close examination of the grey matter reveals fibres 
running out laterally to penetrate the white masses. The 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



25 






>^xC/ 



/ 



fibres from the cell-bodies in the ventral or anterior region 
of the grey mass pass out from the spinal cord in bundles, 
at the general level of the several spinal 
vertebrae. Thence they may be traced 
principally to the voluntary muscles 
of the limbs and trunk. The fibres 
issuing from the dorsal or posterior re- 
gion of the grey matter pass out in 
similar bundles from the posterior sides 
of the cord^ and thence, after uniting 
with the bundles from the-motor region, 
are distributed chiefly to the sense or- 
gans of the skin, joints, muscles, ten- 
dons, etc. It may be remarked at this 
point that the voluntary muscles, such 
as control the movements of the hand, 
are commonly striped muscles, whereas 
the involuntary muscles, e. g., those of 
the alimentary and circulatory systems, 
are generally unstriped. The unstriped 
muscles are mainly connected with the 
sympathetic nervous system, of which 
we shall speak briefly a little later. 
The striped muscles contract and relax 
more rapidly than the unstriped. 

Fig. 13. Showing the ventral surface of 
the spinal axis, as far up as the pons. 
The spinal nerves appear on both sides, 
and on the left the sympathetic gang- 
lia are still in connection with them. 
0\ first cervical root ; D\ first thoracic 
root ; D^^, twelfth thoracic root ; .L^, first 
lumbar root ; S^, first sacral root ; a, &, 
c, superior, middle, and inferior cervical 
sympathetic ganglia ; f?, first thoracic ; 
d}j eleventh thoracic. (Donaldson after 
Thomson, in Quain's Anatomy.) 



d'i 



^jyjs 



The arrangement of the elements in the spinal cord sug- 



26 



PSYCHOLOGY 



gests at once two of its principal functions^ and is so typi- 
cal of the facts generally characterising nervous structure and 
function that it seems judicious to comment upon it briefly. 

4 




Fig. 14. Portion of cervical region of spinal cord. A, cord seen 
from posterior surface. B, cord seen from the lateral sur- 
face. 1, ventral median fissure ; 2, dorsal fissure ; 5, ventral 
fibres entering the cord ; 6, dorsal fibres leaving the cord ; 7, 
spinal nerve after the union of the dorsal and ventral bundles 
of fibres; 7\ sympathetic fibres. (After Barker and Rauber.) 

It will be observed in the first place^ that in the cord cell- 
bodies^ connected through their fibres with the sense organs 
and the muscles respectively, are in ver}^ close proximity to 
one another. It should be relatively easy, therefore, for an 
incoming sensory impulse to find its way out over motor 
nerves and so to produce reflex movements, that is, move- 
ments made in immediate response to sensory stimulations, 
without the guiding action of consciousness. This is pre- 
cisely what happens, and it is as a reflex mechanism that the 
spinal cord exercises one of its important functions. As in- 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



27 



stances of such reflexes we ma}^ mention the jerking of the 
foot when the sole is tickled^ and the knee-jerk exhibited 
when one leg is crossed over the other and the region just 
below the knee-cap is smartly struck. Furthermore, we 
should find upon examination that the white fibrous tracts 
along the external surfaces of the cord connect it with both 
the higher and the lower parts of the system. (Figures 16 
and 17.) It should thus be easy for impulses to pass upward 
and downward^ between the brain on the one hand and the 
sense organs and muscles on the other. Such ready trans- 
mission actually occurs^, and it is in this fact that we find the 
second great function of this organ. The spinal, cord is ac- 
cordingly typical of the central structures in general, in that 

D P. 




Fig. 15. Diagrammatic cross-section of the spinal cord. W TT, 
white fibrous matter : G G, gvey cellular matter ; A, afferent 
sensory fibres passing through 8G, the spinal ganglion into 
the posterior horn of the grey matter ; E, efferent motor 
fibres, most of which lead to muscles like J/, many of which 
connect with the sympathetic ganglia, like 8y. D. P., dorsal 
or posterior, surface of the cord; Y, A., ventral, or anterior, 
surface. 

it provides (1) means for the immediate connection of sense 
organs and muscles and (2) devices for connecting various 
parts of its own and other nervous structures with one 
another. 

If we were to examine the other subcortical masses lying 
between the cerebrum and the spinal cord^ we should find 
that^ in general^ they consist of aggregations of neurones 



28 ' 



PSYCHOLOGY 



much like those in the cord^ but on the whole less simply and 
regularly disposed. Thus, the medulla, the corpora, and the 
thalami all display ganglion groups with sensory and motor 



Anterior root v" 



Central motor pathway 
Motor ganglion cell 

Sensory collateral 
Peripheral motor fibre 



Motor nerve 
ending in muscle 



Sensory fibre 



Peripheral 
ending sensory 
nerve 




Posterior root 



Ascending and 
descending branch of 
sensory fibre 



Sensory collateral 



Cell and fibre oj 
lateral column 



spinal g<inglion 



Fig. 16. Schematic representation of sensory and motor pathways 
in the cord. (After Toldt.) 

connections. When we come to speak of their specific func- 
tions, we are obliged to indulge largely in speculation, be- 
cause the facts are evidentl)" extremely complex, and our 
knowledge of the details involved is notoriously incomplete. 
Moreover, the specialised functions which are sometimes at- 
tributed to them in the case of the lower animals are prob- 
ably in the human being largely usurped by the cerebral 
cortex. In any event we must always remember that the ner- 
vous system is an organic unit, and no part of it ever acts 
wholly independently of the other parts, nor is any influence 
exercised upon one part entirely without significance for the 
other parts. Any mention of specific functions of different 
regions must always be made with this reservation in mind. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



29 



Thus, the spinal cord undoubtedly contains the neurones whose 
innervation is immediately responsible for movements of the 
hand. But this inner- 
vation itself may origi- 
nate almost anywhere 
throughout the rest of 
the nervous system, so 
that any portion of 
this system may in a 
particular case contrib- 
ute to the production 
of the special motor 
consequences. To say 
that a region of the 
nervous system presides 
over any special func- 
tion is, therefore, sim- 
ply to say that it is the 
portion most immedi- 
ately and most invari- 
ably responsible for it. 

Fig. 17. Longitudinal 
section of ttie cord 
to show the branch- 
ing of incoming root 
fibres in dorsal col- 
umns. Above are 
three (R) root fibres, 
each of which forms 
two principal 
branches. These give 
off at right angles 
other branches, colla- 
terals, CC, which ter- 
minate in brushes. Z, 
central cells, whose 
neurones give off 
similar collaterals. 

(Donaldson after /il \ v ?, ^ /^ 

Ramon y Cajal.) ^ <2>^ 

Speaking within such limitations, we may say that there 




30 



PSYCHOLOGY 



are two functions of centres lying in the meduUic region^ 
about which considerable unanimity of opinion exists. The 
control of the automatic respiratory movements^ and the con- 
trol of the vaso-motor nerves which govern the calibre of the 




Fig. 18. The human brain from below, with its nerves numbered. 
( Modified from James after Henle. ) Z, olfactory ; 11, optic ; 
///, oculomotorius ; IV, trochlearis ; V, trifacial ; VI, abducens 
oculi ; VII, facial ; VIII, auditory ; IX, glosso-pharyngeal ; Z, 
pnenmogastric ; XI, spinal accessory ; XII, hypoglossal ; ncl, 
first cervical, etc. A, association centres ; O, olfactory cen- 
^ tres ; V, visual centres ; M, medulla oblongata ; Ce, cerebellum ; 
P, pons Varolii. 

arteries^ are apparently the immediate possessions of neurones 
belonging in this neighbourhood. Needless to say^ all these 
regions are like the spinal cord in containing pathways for 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



31 



neural excitation to pass upward and downward^ between the 
cerebrum on the one hand and the sense organs and muscles 
on the other. . 

It is in this region of the brain^ too^ that the cranial nerves 
are given off^ e. g., the nerves of special sense, like the olfac- 
tory, the auditory, the optic, the gustatory and facial, and 
such motor nerves as those controlling the eyes, the tongue, 
the lips, etc. (Figure 18.) It is commonly maintained 
that the phylogenetic pattern from which the human nervous 
system has been developed is of a segmental character, each 




Fig. 19. The left side of the brain. Me,, the medulla oblongata 
cut off just above the point of junction with the spinal cord. 
C, the cerebellum. R, the fissure of Rolando. S, the fissure 
of Sylvius. VV, region of the occipital lobe where neurones 
from the optic tract terminate ; MM, motor cellular centres ; 
SM, motor centres controlling muscles used in speech ; HH, 
centres where auditory neurones terminate ; BB, region re- 
ceiving neurones from the organs of bodily sensations, such 
as pressure, temperature, movement, etc. ; AA, association 
centres. 

part of it receiving sensory and motor nerves from relatively 
distinct regions, or segments, over which they exercise a defi- 
nite and sometimes exclusive control. In the human being 



32 PSYCHOLOGY 

the motor nerves can, indeed, be classified in this segmental 
way in accordance with the special muscles which they in- 
nervate, e. g., those of the head, the upper trunk, the lower 
trunk, etc. But the connections of the sensory neurones in 
man make any such segmental divisions of them very hazard- 
ous, so that the application of the segmental idea to the inter- 
pretation of our human nervous action is somewhat uncertain. 

The Cortical Neurones. — The Cerebellum. — So little is 
known about the operations of the cortex of the cerebellum, 
that it will not be profitable to discuss it. Suffice it to say 
that the cerebellum has a very rich connection, by means of 
both sensory and motor neurones, with the cerebrum and the 
lower brain centres. 

The Cerebrum. — For the psychologist the cerebral hemi- 
spheres are the most interesting and most important portions 
of the nervous system. From the various lines of evidence 
mentioned earlier in the chapter, we know that consciousness 
is connected with this part of the brain in an exceedingly 
intimate way, and we shall consequently devote some little 
space to its consideration. 

The surface of the hemispheres, called the cortex, and 
shown in figures 19 to 22, is made up of layers of cell-bodies, 
with their delicate protoplasmic processes. The extraordi- 
nary richness of the dendritic development in the cortical 
neurones furnishes one of the most marked peculiarities of 
the human cerebrum, as contrasted with those of animals. 
This intricate dendritic structure apparently represents 
the bodily counterpart of those elaborate interrelations among 
ideational processes, which characterise in general the higher 
forms of intelligence. 

Certain of the cortical areas are known to be in functional 
connection with sense organs from which they receive stimuli. 
Thus, the region marked H is in connection with the ear, and 
receives auditory impressions. (Compare figures 18 to 21.) 
The region marked V is similarly connected with the retina, 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



33 



and receives visual impressions. It is reasonably certain that 
the areas marked receive olfactory stimuli, while the region 
marked B is probably that immediately concerned with the 
reception of tactual 
and thermal stim- 
uli. The centres for 
taste are not clearly 
made out. It seems 
probable, however, 
that they are in the 
neighbourhood of 
the olfactory termi- 
nals. There is rea- 
son to believe that 
ordinarily the per- 
ipheral sensory neu- 
rones are in connec- 
tion with the side 
of the cortex oppo- 
site to that from' 
which they origi- 
nate. For example, 
the touch nerves of 
the left hand find 



R 




Fig. 20. Diagram showing cerebral hemi- 
spheres as seen from above. LF, longi- 
tudinal fissure separating the hemi- 
spheres ; RR, fissure of Rolando. W, 
visual regions of the occipital lobes ; 
AA, association centres ; MM, motor 
centres ; BB, centres for bodily senses 
of touch, temperature, etc. 



their cortical termi- 
nations in the right side of the hemispheres. The optic nerve, 
however, affords a curious modification of this plan. The 
neurones from the right side of each retina are connected 
with the right side of the brain, those from the left side, 
with the left hemisphere. (See figure 23.) In this partic- 
ular, as in some others, the optic tract is peculiar. The 
retina itself differs from all the other sense organs in being 
a part of the brain, which has in the course of developnient 
been dislocated from its original position. 

Another great group of these cortical cells in the region 



34 



PSYCHOLOGY 



marked M^ generally known as the region of Eolando, from 
its proximity to the fissure of that name, is well recognised 
as being in connection with the voluntary muscles, which 
are controlled from this centre. The voluntary muscles of 
each half of the body appear as a rule to be controlled by 
cells situated in the opposite side of the brain. (See figure 
24.) In view of such facts as we have just been rehearsing, 
the cerebral cortex has been described as a projection system, 
representing every sensitive point and every voluntary muscle 




Fig. 21. Mesial surface of the left half of the brain severed along 
the great longitudinal fissure from the right half. Me, 
medulla oblongata ; P, pons Varolii ; AA, association centres ; 
M, motor centres ; BB, centres for bodily sensations, such as 
touch, temperature, etc. ; VV, visual centres ; (7, cerebellum. 

in the body. There are, how^ever, other large areas in the 
cortex which are not in immediate control of n:iuscles, nor do 
they represent the emergence point for neurones in connec- 
tion with the sense organs. These centres marked A are 
called by Plechsig, who has studied them most carefully, 
association centres. One of these centres, lying beneath the 
fissure of Sylvius, is not shown by our cuts. Their business 
seems to be that of uniting the several sensory regions, such 
as H and F, with one another and with the motor region. 



c.z. 



M.P. 



A. sir, 
Subm. P, 



Gt. P.P. 



Pol P. J 




W. 



Fig. 22. Cortex of human cei-ebriiiu illustrating systems of fibres • 
f;f" f, ,^^" ^°"^ ^^^^ *'™i" ^I'l'es : Ji./^. plexus in the " molec- 
ular ' layer ; Gt. P.P., great p.vramidal plexus ; Pol P poly- 
morphic plexus; TF., -.vLite matter. (Barker after Andriezen ) 



L T. r. 



R.N. F 



~~i 




LOS 



L O.O 



Fig. 23. Scheme of the mechanism of vision. ( James after Segnin. ) 
The cuneus convolution {Cu) of the right occipital lobe is 
supposed to be injured, and all the parts which lead to it 
are darkly shaded to show that they fail to exert their func- 
tion. F.O. are the intra-hemispheric optical fibres. P.O.C. 
is the region of the lower optic centres (corpora geniculata 
and quadrigemina). T.O.D. is the right optic tract; (7, the 
chiasma ; F.L.D. are the fibres going to the lateral or tem- 
poral half T of the right retina, and F.C.8. are those going to 
the central or nasal half of the left retina. O.D. is the 
right, and 0.8. the left, eyeball. The rightward half of each 
is therefore blind ; in other words, the right nasal field, 
R.N.F., and the left temporal field, L.T.F., have become in- 
visible to the subject with the lesion at Cu, 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



37 



(Compare figure 25.) It appears to be true in a general way 
that these association centres are relatively larger and more 
highly developed in those animals possessing most intelli- 
gence. There is another extremely important connecting 
mechanism, made up, however, exclusively of fibres, and 




Fig. 24. Schematic transverse section of the human brain to show 
the crossing of motor fibres in the neighbourhood of the 
medulla, through the Rolandic region. S, fissure of Sylvius ; 
N. C, nucleus caudatus, and X.L., nucleus lenticularis of the 
corpus striatum ; O.T., thalamus ; O, crus ; M, medulla ob- 
longata ; F//., the facial nerves passing out from their nucleus 
in the region of the pons. The fibres passing between 0,T. 
and N.L. constitute the so-called internal capsule. 

known as the corpus callosum (figures 21, 25, and 26), by 
means of which the two sides of the hemispheres are brouglit 
into connection with one another. These various devices 
make it possible for cortical nervous impulses originating in 



38 



PSYCHOLOGY 



the stimulation of some sense organ^ like the ear^ to pass 
into other cortical regions like that belonging to vision^ and 
thence ont through the Eolandic zone to some muscle^ pro- 
ducing^ perhaps^ a voluntary movement. This is probably 




Fig. 25. Fibres associating the cortical centres with one another. 

(Schematic, James after Starr.) 

what would occur^ for example^ were we to hear the words 
*^*'Draw a horse/^ then to think how a horse looks^ and then 
finally to make the appropriate movements of our hands. 
This and similar relations are suggested b}^ figure 27. 

The Cerebral Cortex and Memory. — When we contrast the 
cerebral cortex with the other parts of the nervous system, 
with reference to its significance for consciousness, we find 
that it is in the memory processes that the most conspicuous 
differences first come to light. If one suffers the destruction 
of the retinae by accident or disease, or if the pathways be 
interrupted anywhere between the retinas and the cortex, one 
becomes blind, but that may be all. When, however, as oc- 
casionally happens, one loses the use of the occipital regions, 
one not only becomes blind, but one also loses all visual mem- 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



39 



ories. It is not possible to remember liow familiar objects 
look^ and they are often not recognised when seen. So-called 
word-blindness^ or visual aphasia^ is caused in this way, the 
patient being unable to recognise or understand written 
words. If the injiirj^ is confined to one side of the brain the 
common result is hemianopsia in more or less serious form, 
i. e,y blindness to one-half of the field of view^ owing to the 
destruction of the cortical centres receiving the fibres from the 
lateral half of each retina. Similarly^ when the auditory 
region is injured^ one loses the memory of auditory experi- 
ences. If in this case^ as frequently happens^ the disorder 
be confined to one side of the 
brain^ and this be the side 
most highly developed (the 
left side in right-handed peo- 
ple), one cannot understand 
what is heard. This disease is 
known as sensory, or auditory, 
aphasia. The patient is not 
deaf, for the less developed 
and uninjured half of the cor- 
tex may serve for the produc- 
tion of vague auditory con- 
sciousness, but the associa- 
tions which words and familiar 
sounds ordinarily evoke are 
wholty gone, because these 
were possessions of the now 
diseased side. The mental con- 
dition is not unlike that of a 
person hearing an unknown foreign language. He is not 
deaf to the words, iDut they mean nothing to him, for they 
have no associations. 

A closely comparable condition is that of motor aphasia, 
a disease in which one cannot articulate coherently. One is 




Fig. 26. Transverse sec- 
tion through right 
hemisphere. ( James 

after Gegenbanr. ) 
Oc, corpus caUosum ; 
Pf, piHars of fornix ; 
/c, internal capsule ; 
Scl V, third ventricle ; 
'Nl, nucleus lenticularis. 



40 



PSYCHOLOGY 



not necessarily dumb, and there may be no true paralysis of 
the articulatory muscles. But one simply cannot make the 

enunciatory movements in 
their correct order. This 
disorder is often found con- 
nected in right-handed per- 
sons with disease of the left 
side of the motor region of 
the cerebral cortex, which is 
in control of these muscles. 
(Compare figure 19.) But 
it may be brought about — 
and often is — as a secondary 
consequence of auditory or 
sensory aphasia. If, when 
we speak, we are in the habit 
of having in our minds just 
prior to enunciation the au- 
ditory image or thought of 
how the words are going 
to sound, any difficulty 
which prevents our securing 
these auditory images will 
effectually prevent our ut- 
terance. Now sensory 
aphasia involves precisely 
this difficultv in command- 
ing auditory images. As most of us do actually employ 
auditory thoughts to innervate our speech muscles, for 
we learn to speak as children by imitating sounds, it 
is surely not unnatural that sensory aphasia should so often 
be accompanied by motor aphasia. Cases are on record of 
persons who employed visual instead of auditory imagery to 
innervate the speech muscles, and who, upon suffering from 
lesions in the visual regions of the brain, were seized with 




Fig. 27. A is the auditory cen- 
tre, V the visual, W the writ- 
ing, and E that for speech, 
(After James.) 



.••1 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 4I 

motor aphasia. The sensory-motor arc, or circuit, as we have 
previously remarked, represents the unit of action, finding 
no exception in the activity of the complex cortical centres, 
and any stoppage of it in the sensory portion may be as fatal 
to its proper operation as a defect in the muscles them- 
selves. This is brought out in the accompanying diagram, 
figure 38. 

Such facts as these we have been describing show us that 
our memory is in a peculiar way dependent upon the integrity 





M 

Fig. 28. SO, a sense organ : SC, a sensory cortical centre ; MC, a 
cortical motor centre ; M, a muscle. If M has become accus- 
tomed to contracting in response to a stimulus from 80 ^ any 
interruption of the neural pathway joining the two, whether 
at i, or 2, or 3, may destroy the coordination and render M 
temporarily useless. 

of the cortex. Visual ideas, tactual ideas, auditory ideas, and 
the like can apparently be recalled only when the several 
parts of the cortex with which these functions are connected 
are intact. In the first instance a visual consciousness in- 
volves not only a visual cortex, but also a retina, and more or 
less of the intermediate organs between the two. A similar 
thing is true of the relation of all the other sense organs to 
the various elementary forms of sensory experience, such as 
touch, sound, taste, etc. But once the sensory experience has 
occurred, the cortex instantly takes up the impress and mem- 
ory becomes possible. Destroy any part of the nervous system 
save this, and conscious memory may escape destruction. 
Destroy any specific sensory region in this cerebral cortex, and 
the corresponding sensory memories are obliterated or seri- 



42 PSYCHOLOGY 

ously deranged. Destroy a region in the motor zone^ and 
the voluntary control of some muscle^ or group of muscles^ is 
affected. Destroy or injure the association centres, and onr 
intelligent conjoining of ideas, impressions, and movements 
is likely to be impaired. The gravity and permanency of these 
psychical disorders brought about in the way suggested, i.e., by 
destruction of certain areas, varies very greatly under different 
conditions, so that the statements as made must be understood 
as attempting to convey only the broad general facts. 

When one remembers that our most important and signifi- 
cant acts of will are based upon hopes and fears and beliefs 
which involve our calling upon the memory of our past ex- 
perience, one begins to appreciate how immensely important 
for all our life history this memory function of the cortex 
must be. Thus we choose, for example, one course of action 
rather than another, because we remember that somebody 
will be benefited if we act in this way, or injured if we do 
not. Memory always operates whenever we deliberate, and 
anything which would deprive us of our memory would 
effectually destroy the will. The cortex of the cerebrum as 
the physiological substrate of our conscious memory is thus 
the unquestioned peer among the various gross structures in 
the nervous system. 

In concluding this statement, two things should be em- 
phasised. (1) The cortex is nowhere in direct connection 
with a sense organ, but receives all its sensory stimulations 
through the intermediation of the peripheral neurones and 
of some of the subcortical groups, like the medulla, and it is 
similarly in direct connection with no voluntary muscles, but 
communicates with them by means of the subcortical neu- 
rones. The shortest possible pathways which could, so far as 
is now known, be emplo3^ed in the transmission of an auditory 
or visual stimulus to the cortex, and back from the cortex 
to voluntary muscles, is shown in figures 29 and 30. The 
anatomical arrangements peculiar to these illustrative cases 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



43 



maj^ be regarded as typical for all sense organs and voluntary 
mnscles^ but undoubtedly the pathways generalh^ traversed 
by nervous impulses are much more complicated and indirect. 



r^-M/:v.\--\:- 







Fig. 29. D, periphery of the body ; G, cell of the posterior sensory 
ganglion of the cord, sending its fibre d to the surface of the 
body ; c, a central process of G coming into connection with 
f,;a c^ll in the region of the medulla; f is shown terminating 
with branches in the cortex g. It is probable, however, that 
another cell in the medullic region is always employed in the 
transmission of sensorj^ impulses from D to g. A, a cell of 
the motor cortex, sending a long process a down to the 
cell h in the ventral horn of the cord; & sends out a fibre to 
the muscle (7. 



44 



PSYCHOLOGY 






3 



AOC 



COS 



TC)C 



Toe 



A. 



M()C 



MoC 



H 



C 
C 



G 



soc 



-A. 



M 



(2) The cortex seems always to act in an essentially 
unitary way. Consciousness is, then, the counterpart of the 
total mass of shifting tensions going on all over the cortex 

at any given mo- 
V ment. When this 
tension is greatest 
P j^ P in the occipital re- 
gion, v/e are aware 
of visual qualities. 
When the temporal 
convolutions are 
under greatest 
strain, conscious- 
ness is auditory, 
etc. Moreover, in 
this picture of con- 
sciousness as the 
counterpart of a 
unified series of 
physiological ten- 
sions all over the 
cortex, we must not 
forget that the 
whole nervous sys- 
tem is in a measure 
involved. These 
tensions are of such 
a character as to 
require a constant 
escapement through 
the motor path- 
ways, with a mo- 



1 

V 



voc 



TOC 

A 

ROG 

bJc 

Ro. I Co. 
t 



t 



Jr^ 



•\^ 



Fig. .30. Diagram to iHustrate the short- 
est pathways from sense organs to 
cortex, and from cortex to muscles, 
i, the visual tract ; 2, the auditory 
tract ; 3, a cutaneous tract ; ^, a motor 
tract. Ro, and Co., rods and cones ; 
BC, bipolar retinal cell ; RG, large re- 
tinal ganglion ; TO, cell body in the 
thalamic region ; FO, cell in the visual 
cortex of the occipital region. HC, 
hair cell of the cochlea ; CC, ganglion 
cell of the cochlea ; MC and TC as in 
the visual tract: AO, cell in the audi- 
tory cortex of the upper temporal re- 
gion. ^aS', end-organ in the skin ; SG, 
cell of the spinal ganglion on the pos- 
terior root of the cord: MC and T(7 
as before : O^V, sensory cell in the cor- 
tex of the Rolandic region, RMC, 
motor cell of the Rolandic region : SC, 
motor cell of the ventral horn of the 
cord, sending down a process to M, a 
muscle. 



mentary establish- 
ment of equilibrium as a consequence of such escapement, 
and a fresh disturbance of equilibrium as a secondary con- 
sequence; this latter disturbance being brought about 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



45 



through movements actually executed. Such a recurrent 
series of movements and sensations^ illustrated by the accom- 
panying diagram^ is involved in every coherent^ consecutive 
occupation of which we are capable. (Figure 31.) Sleep 
affords practically the only instance of cessation from these 
coordinated series of stimulations and movements. Idea- 
tional processes are often^ of course^ interpolated between the 
sensation and the movement, as is suggested by the diagram. 
The Autonomic System. — In addition to the central ner- 
vous system of which we have thus far spoken must be men- 




FiG. 31. Diagram to illustrate the progress of a series of co- 
ordinated movements. 8, a sense organ being stimulated : 8C, 
the cortical centre for this special sense ; MC, a motor centre 
controlling the muscle, M; KC, a sensory centre for the kin- 
sesthetic sensation produced by the contraction of M. MC^, 
another motor centre innervating M^, which in turn produces 
the kinsesthetic sensation reported at KC^, etc. ; //, ideas or 
images, whose brain processes may be interpolated anywhere 
throughout such a series, discharging into the motor centre 
MC2, thus originating a fresh series of movements and kin- 
sesthetic sensations. 

tioned the autonomic system commonly known as the sjrmpa- 
thetic system, and of which the true sympathetic is a highly 
important part. The autonomic sj^stem, about which our 
exact knowledge is lamentably defective, is apparently an out- 
growth of the central system, and the two are intimately con- 
nected, both as regards their structure and their action. The 
striking peculiarity about the autonomic system is, as its name 
indicates, its relatively self-directing or automatic activity. 



46 PSYCHOLOGY 

The autonomic system of neurones may be conveniently^ 
though roughly^ described as made up of three great groups. 
One of these groups consists of a series of ganglia gathered 
into two long strands extending up and down each side of the 
spinal cord. This contains the sympathetic system in the 
narrower and more precise sense of the term. The second 
group consists of the great plexuses of ganglia found respec- 
tively in the thoracic^ abdominal^ and pelvic cavities. The 
third group consists of isolated ganglia scattered miscella- 
neously through the body^ e, g,, in the hearty, in the walls of 
the arteries^, in the eye cavity^ etc. These neurone groups are 
made up of cell-bodies and fibres for the most part unmedul- 
lated. A portion of the impulses which affect their action 
apparently come from the central system. They certainly 
discharge impulses into the glands^ the unstriped muscles^ 
and^ in the case of the hearty, into striped muscle. Thus^ for 
example^ when an embarrassing announcement is made in 
our presence a sensory impulse passes over the auditory tract of 
the central system and thence^ among other consequences, im- 
pulses are sent to the region in the medulla which controls the 
S3^mpathetic ganglia connected with the muscular tissue of the 
blood-vessels;, and straightway we find ourselves blushing. The 
sweat glands may also become active, causing us to perspire. 

All the important vegetative and life sustaining processes, 
such as respiration, circulation, digestion, etc., are under 
the guidance, partial or entire, of the autonomic nerves. It 
is consequently to the activity of these parts that we owe our 
general sense of bodily well-being, as w^ell as our feelings of 
distress and pain when any of these great. life functions go 
astray. Our consciousness is undoubtedly toned, as it were, 
all the time, by the condition and activity of the autonomic 
system. This fact will become very evident when we come 
to study instinct and emotion. The entire nervous system, 
therefore, and not simply the central system, is concerned 
in the modifications of our consciousness. 



CHAPTER III- 

A SKETCH OF THE GENERAL RELATIONS OP 
CONSCIOIJSlSrESS TO NEURAL ACTION 

It will greatly facilitate our subsequent understanding of 
the operations of consciousness if we pause to examine at this 
point some of the things which the nervons system is able to 
accomplish without the direct assistance of the mind^ together 
with certain general relations of consciousness to neural ac- 
tion. Such an examination will bring us face to face with 
one or two of the fundamental principles^ or laws, which con- 
trol neural action. 

A Matter of Terminology. — Let it be understood once and 
for all that wherever we speak, as occasionally we do, as 
though the mind might-in a wholly unique manner step in and 
bring about changes in the action of the nervous system, we 
are employing a convenient abbreviation of expression which 
harmonises with the ordinary everyday methods of thinking 
and speaking about these relations. The real fact appears to 
be, as we observed in the previous chapter, that whenever we 
have mental activity, we have also neural activity in the cere- 
bral cortex. The basal distinction in the two kinds of nervous 
action to which we are referring in this chapter is, therefore, 
not primarily between a form in which the mind suddenly pro- 
duces changes in the nerves as against one in which it does 
not, but rather a distinction between certain kinds of neural 
activity involving consciousness, e. g., cortical activity of the 
cerebrum, and certain other kinds not involving it, e. g., 
spinal cord reflexes. To use on every occasion the long modi- 
fying phrases necessary to precise accuracy on this matter 

47 



48 PSYCHOLOGY 

would evidently be undiily cumbrous^ and so we shall employ 
the commoner modes of expression^ but the fundamental facts 
which lie behind these convenient metaphors must not be 
forgotten. 

Automatic and Eeflex Acts. — If we take np the general 
character of neural action from the genetic point. of view, we 
shall have our attention at once called to the fact that the 
new-born babe does not come into the world so completely 
helpless as is sometimes implied. There is a small group of 
acts which the little stranger is at once able to perform. 
Eespiration, circulation, and digestion are three physiological 
functions which are carried on from the first. They all in- 
volve muscular movements, and constitute what are commonly 
known as automatic acts. The nervous stimulus for such* 
activities is wholly, or in part, within the organism itself. 
Thus, the chemical condition of the blood may be responsible 
for changes in circulation and respiration, the presence of 
food in the stomach incites its digestive processes, etc. We 
are as a rule under normal conditions entirely unconscious of 
those automatic activities whose effects terminate inside the 
organism, although if anything goes wrong with them they 
ordinarily cause us pain and in this way we become cognisant 
of them. 

Other motions can be excited by stimuli outside the organ- 
ism. Thus the sucking movements necessary for the child to 
obtain its food are capable of being aroused by touching the 
lips. The fingers will clasp firmly any object put into them, 
an act said to be reminiscent of the days when our ancestors 
lived in trees, and the young had to cling to the branches. 
Acts of this kind are called reflex. A reflex act, as we re- 
marked in the previous chapter, is definable as an act in which 
a movement is made in direct response to a stimulus outside 
the organism, without the interposition of consciousness. Of 
course consciousness sometimes takes cognisance of reflex 
acts, but it does not produce them. We may be conscious that 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 49 

we have winked^ and still the closure of the e3^elids be due to 
a reflex. We are very unlikely not to remark that we have 
sneezed. Oftentimes, however, reflex acts escape our notice 
altogether, just as the automatic acts do. 

Now such acts as these, few in number and simple as they 
are, evidentlv furnish the child with a nucleus of coordina- 
tions by means of which to begin the conquering of his world. 
They are evidently hereditary and, as every normal child 
possesses them, we may regard them unhesitatingly as racial, 
or phylogenetic, in nature. The animals generally possess at 
birth a larger equipment of such inherited coordinations 
than does man, and certain ones we commonly call instincts. 
These instincts we shall have occasion to examine with greater 
detail at a later point in the book, so we may pass them by 
here with the single remark that they are, as regards their 
origin, undoubtedly akin to the reflexes and the automatic 
acts. They represent thus the outcropping of the universal 
racial characteristics in the individual. 

Development of Reflexes. — Were we to observe closely the 
growth of any child, we should find that from time to time 
new reflexes were added to his original stock. Thus, winking 
and sneezing would after a time put in an appearance, and 
finally at about twelve or fourteen years of age the full store 
of these reflexes as displayed by the adult would be complete. 
This course of development undoubtedly runs parallel to the 
development of the several nerve centres and the intercom- 
municating pathways. 

Continuous Nature of Organic Activity. — In the light of 
the foregoing statements it njay, perhaps, arouse no special 
surprise, although it is certainly a striking thing, that from 
the moment of birth until death there is never complete quiet 
throughout the organism. Always do we find muscular move- 
ments, alwaj^s something is being done, always activity of 
some kind is going forward. In sleep itself, which we com- 
monly associate with complete repose, respiration and circula- 



50 PSYCHOLOGY 

tion are occurring^ and although each specific muscular con- 
traction is followed by a period of recuperation for that par- 
ticular muscle^ viewing the organism as a whole there 1$ never 
entire quiet. When awake^ these automatic activities are 
augmented in the new-born child by such reflexes as we have 
mentioned. The reflexes naturally occur but infrequently and 
as for consciousness^ it appears during the first weeks of a 
chikVs life only for brief periods^ most of the time being de- 
voted to deep sleep. Nevertheless^ the points at which it does 
appear are of fundamental importance for our correct appre- 
hension of its function^ and we must examine them with 
care. 

The Appearance of Consciousness. — Evidently the equip- 
ment of coordinations with w^hich we have found the new-born 
infant supplied cannot carry him very far in his adjust- 
ment to the complex surroundings amid which he finds him- 
self placed. Why he should have been limited by nature to 
just the special group of inherited coordinations which we 
observe in him^ is a question for the biologist to answer. We 
cannot at present go behind the facts. But it is clear at once, 
that in our list of muscular activities over which the babe has 
control, there is no mention of means for responding very 
effectively to auditory or visual stimuli, to mention no others. 
A closer inspection of the situation will suggest to us the gen- 
eralisation, which is undoubtedly correct, that we shall find 
consciousness appearing at those points where there is in- 
capacity on the part of the purely physiological mechanism to 
cope with the demands of the surroundings. If the reflexes 
and the automatic acts were wholly competent to steer the or- 
ganism throughout its course, there is no reason to suppose 
consciousness would ever put in an appearance. Certainly 
we never find it intruding itself where these conditions are 
observed, except in pathological instances. 

Let us examine as a typical case what happens when the 
consciousness of sound first occurs. We know that many chil- 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 51 

dren are unable to hear for several days after birth^ partly 
because the middle-ear is filled with mucus. When the time 
comes^ however^ that the ear is able to receive the auditory 
stimulus^ we have at once an excitation of the "organism for 
which there is no definite preformed muscular response. Some 
children^ to be sure^ early display a tendency to move the 
head^ as does an adult in localising a sounds and this may 
possibly be a partially hereditarj^ propensity. But it is prob- 
lematic whether this ever occurs immediately after birth^ and 
certainly it is quite rare. The usual thing under such con- 
ditions is unquestionabh'' the appearance of vague conscious- 
ness clominantly of the auditory kind ; the stimulation having 
the tendency^ if it be intense^ to discharge itself according to 
the law of ^^ diffusion ^^ (of which more anon) throughout 
many motor channels^, involving movements of the muscles in 
various parts of the bodj^ 

JN'ow these movements require coordination. If they are ever 
to be turned to account they must be controlled and ordered. 
The new stimulus has broken rudely in upon the coordinated 
reflex and automatic activities alread}^ goi^g ^n- It has 
probably affected the circulation and the respiration. If the 
child were feedings it may have shocked him into cessation 
and;, in place of the sucking, set up the unwelcome wail- 
ing. Such a case is typical of the occasions where conscious- 
ness comes to light. The organism has end-organs sensitive 
to sound stimulations, but no ready-made physiological ar- 
rangements, for responding effectively to such stimuli. Con- 
sequently, when a stimulus of sound bursts in upon its 
activities, some of which, as we have seen, are always in prog- 
ress, it finds itself helpless and unable to act in any save a 
random and disordered way. Straightway appears conscious- 
ness with its accompanying cortical activities, taking note of 
the nature of the stimulus and of the various kinds of mus- 
cular response which it called forth. .From this point on, 
the development is steady and uninterrupted toward the at- 



52 PSYCHOLOGY 

tainment of those fixed and intelligent modes of reaction^ 
which we call habits. 

Were we to examine in the same way the appearance of 
visual consciousness, we should find a precisely similar state 
of things^ save that in this case the fully developed process 
involves certain reflexes which are not perfectly matured at 
birth, like the accommodation of the lense of the eye. But 
the essential point is the same. Consciousness appears in 
response to the needs of an organism sensitive to certain kinds 
of physical stimuli, i. e., in this case light. These stimuli 
breaking in upon the operations of the organism find it in- 
competent to cope with them immediately. It has the power 
of making movements in response, but none of those which 
are inborn meet the case, and among all the other potential 
ones there must be intelligent adaptive selection. This is the 
field of conscious action, and we should fixud, were we to take 
time for a thorough exploration of all the sensory forms of 
consciousness, e. g., taste, smell, touch, etc., that they are all 
called forth, under the same conditions of inadequacy on the 
part of the purely hereditary physiological mechanisms of 
movement, to meet the demand of the physical and social 
environment. 

It shall be our next business to trace in outline the process 
by which consciousness brings order out of this threatened 
chaos and leaves the organism a group of habits to which addi- 
tions are continually made and by means of which the organ- 
ism becomes increasingly master of the situation. This 
account will be only a sketch, however, for all the rest of our 
study wdll really be devoted to filling in the details. In the 
chapters upon volition we shall return specifically to these 
very points. 

The Formation of Habits. — It will be remembered that in 
the previous chapter, when we were studying the nervous 
system, we observed that in its simplest forms the nervous 
organism appeared to be little more than a device to connect 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 53 

a sense organ with a muscle and so to enable the discharge 
of movements in response to stimulation. When we examined 
complex systems^ like that of man^ where memory processes 
are clearly in evidence^ we noticed that this same principle was 
everywhere in evidence^ although it gained its expression 
through the most elaborate arrangements in the nervous tis- 
sues. We remarked^ also^ that the normal state of every 
incoming sensory stimulus was to find its way out again 
sooner or later in the form of muscular movements and 
glandular activities. This tendency is in no way modified 
by the complexity of the neural structure^ except as regards 
the ease with which we detect such reappearance of the stimu- 
lus in the form of motion. If we bear these facts in mind, a 
considerable part of the mystery seemingly surrounding the 
processes we are now to investigate will fall away at the 
outset. 

The Beginning of Motor Control. — Let us take as a typical 
instance of the development of motor control the series of 
events which occur when a baby first learns to connect a 
visual impression with a movement of his hand and arm. 
Suppose a bright, coloured ball is held before his eyes. This 
stimulus sends strong sensory currents over the optic tracts 
to the brain centres and somehow or other, as we have seen, 
these currents must get out again in the form of move- 
ments. But we have also seen that there are few or no pre- 
formed reflex pathways over which such neural excitement 
may be discharged. Consequently, instead of some single 
relatively simple movement like that of reaching, what we 
observe is precisely what the principle of " diffusion ^^ postu- 
lates as normal, i. e., a mass of aimless, uncoordinated move- 
menis in a large number of muscles. The face is wrinkled in 
a frown or a smile, as the case may be, the fingers open and 
shut, the arms jerk about, the body and legs move spasmod- 
ically and possibly the child cries out. This does not seem^a 
very promising beginning for the development of intelligent 



54 PSYCHOLOGY 

control^ and yet in point of fact it contains jnst the features 
most essential for progress. Speaking generally^ we may say 
that snch stimulations call ont an excess reaction, a -motor 
response in which are contained^ almost without fail^ the 
special small group of useful and important movements 
which subsequently become isolated from the general mis- 
cellaneous motor matrix in which they at first appear. The 
manner in which this result is attained we can detect by ob- 
serving our illustrative baby still further in the light of our 
knowledge of how we^ as adults^ acquire new coordinations. 

Presently^, if the stimulus be made more exciting by moving 
it to and fro^ some of these excess movements of the arms 
will result in the child's hand coming into contact with the 
ball. We have already noted the hereditary clasping reflex^ 
and we shall not be surprised^ then^ to find that the tactual 
stimulus to the skin of the hand results in the closing of the 
fingers. Now undoubtedly this first successful grasping of 
the seen object may be wholly accidental, in the sense that it 
is wholly unforeseen by the child. He is much more surprised 
by the occurrence than any of his interested observers^ who 
accredit him with a wealth of conscious purpose and inten- 
tion of which he is completely innocent. But let us observe 
what fundamental consequences are bound up with this 
success. 

In the first place, the mere shock of surprise and (gener- 
ally) pleasure makes the connection of the tactual-motor 
sensations from his hand with the visual sensations from his 
eye extremely vivid. As he moves his hand, he finds his 
visual impressions change. When his hand comes to rest, his 
visual object also remains quiet. There is no reason to sup- 
pose that the child is in any definitely reflective way aware of 
these things. He does not say to himself: '^When I see 
my hand move, I see the ball move; therefore, the two things 
are connected in some way." Indeed, it is probably impos- 
sible for us in adult life to portray accurately to ourselves 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 55 

the simple immediacy of such experiences as these in infant 
life. Bnt the important pointy after all^ is this, that of all the 
sensations which his whole acquaintance with the ball has 
brought the child up to this pointy the ones connected with 
his seeing it when he grasps it^ and his seeing it change when 
his arm-and-hand-f eeling changed^ are the ones most intensely 
connected in his consciousness. 

If we read backward into his mind, then, what we all 
know about our own adult experiences, we may be sure that 
the child^s irqiroyj is extremely likely to retain the highly 
vivid connection of the visual sensation^ of the ball with these 
tactual-motor feelings which accompanied the successful 
grasping of it. Moreover, the genuineness of this connection 
is indicated by the evident tendency to make the successful 
kind of arm movement, rather than any of the dozens of 
other movements with which he started his response to the 
ball, provided we give him at once an opportunity to get 
again the same visual impression from which he set out. To 
be sure, many of the irrelevant movements persist for a time, 
but they rapidly become less frequent and finally disappear. 
The perfect result is of course rarely attained without many 
trials. In this way, however, the child speedily does for him- 
self what nature did in the case of the reflexes, i. e., gives 
himself a neural pathway through which sensory impulses 
may flow out over motor channels for the production of effec- 
tive coordinated muscular movements. In this case we have 
observed the establishing of a control connection between eye 
and hand. The sight of the ball will henceforth tend to call 
out the appropriate reaching and grasping movement. 

The more firmly this connection becomes established, and 
the more deeply the pathway is cut between the visual sensory 
centres and the hand-arm motor centres, the more do the irrel- 
evant movements of face, legs, and body tend to drop away. 
They are inhibited, as we say. Probably this inhibition is in"^ 
largest measure due to the fact that the newly formed channel 



/ 



56 



PSYCHOLOGY 



is increasingly able to carry off all the neural excitation, and 
in consequence less remains to overflow into other channels. 
But the result is certainly beyond question, whatever the 
means by which it is attained. Moreover, just in proportion 
as any such coordination becomes perfect, consciousness tends 
to drop out of the supervision altogether, and to turn the 
process over to the purely physiological mechanisms of the 
organism. Figure 32 illustrates certain of the relations 
which have been described. 



HMR 



KH 
O 




HC 
Of. 









MlVI LM BM FM 




Fig. 32. Diagram to IHustrate the establishment of motor control 
through the principle of "excess discharge/' YS, visual 
stimulus setting up excitation in the retina, which transmits 
it to VC. visual centre in the occipital cortex. Thence the 
neural excitement overflows into FC, motor cells controlling 
muscles of the face, BC, motor cells controlling muscles of 
the body, LC, motor cells controlling the legs, and HC, motor 
cells governing the hand and arm. FO, BC, LG, and HO all 
discharge into their connected muscles, FM, BM, LM, and HM, 
and each muscular contraction sets up a kinsesthetic sensa- 
tion, KF, KB, KL, and KH. Of all the movements made HM 
alone affects the stimulus VS. VSR represents the stimulus 
reinforced by being moved by the hand. This intensifying 
of the factors VC, HC, HM, and the connected factor KH, 
renders the pathway from VS through VC, HC, to HM more 
pervious than any of the other possible pathways. Conse- 
quently the tendency gets fixed for VS, or its connected corti- 
cal processes VC and KH, to discharge into the appropriate 
grasping movement, HMH. 

Characteristics of Habit. — The nervous system is not only 
sensitive to the various forms of stimulation which we call 
light, sound, temperature, etc., it also manages in some way 
or other, as we have already observed, to store up the modi- 
fications which the stimulations produce in it. These modi- 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 57 

fications which are thus preserved manifest themselves in the 
disposition of nervous impulses to run in the same channel 
which predecessors have cut out. If the nervous system were 
an inanimate mass^ we might liken that which occurs to the 
process by which a path is made across a meadow. The first 
wayfarer may have selected his special route for any cause 
whatsoever, and his course may have been devious, like those 
of the cows which are said to have laid out the streets of 
Boston. But he has left a mark in the downtrodden grass, 
which the next person to cross the field is likely to follow. 
Presently the grass is wholly worn away, and thereafter every- 
one follows the beaten path. 

The action of nervous impulses is often spoken of as though 
this kind of thing were precisely what happened. But the 
moment we recall the fact that the nervous system is part of 
a living organism, in which processes of nutrition and repair 
are constantly going forward, and within which many intra- 
organic changes are producing from moment to moment re- 
latively new conditions, we see that the metaphor of the 
pathway in the meadow must be abandoned in favour of some 
idea in which the vital processes of the organism are recog- 
nised and the living tissues treated as something other than so 
much static, plastic clay, which the accidents of the external 
world can mould to their own exclusive purposes. It is un- 
doubtedly true that when avenues, or channels, of nervous 
activity become once established, they tend ever after to re- 
main and be employed. But the point which we must empha- 
sise is, that the organism itself largely decides which pathways 
shall in the first instance become thus established. When 
one recalls the large number of sense organs on the one hand, 
and the large number of muscles on the other, between which 
the central nervous system affords connections, it will at once 
be appreciated that, if the establishment of dominant connec- 
tions in the new-born child were left to the accidents of the 
first external stimulations and to the vagaries of merely pas- 



58 PSYCHOLOGY 

sive nervous centres^ the chances would favour the acquire- 
ment of insane and harmful habits of reaction. Objects which 
burn would be just as likely to produce movements of grasp- 
ing as movements of retreat. 

We may summarise the general purport of habit as a funda- 
mental principle of nervous action in two propositions. (1) 
l^ervous currents tend to employ those pathways which have 
been previously employed. (2) The organism itself plays a 
governing part in determining what pathways shall become 
thus fixed. 

Results of Habit.— The advantages which accrue from habit 
are almost self-evident. When we compare such habitual 
coordinations as are involved in writing the familiar English 
script with those employed in writing the German characters 
with which most of us are far less familiar^ we note that the 
former letters are much more rapidly executed^ that they are 
much more accurately made^ and that they produce far less 
fatigue. It is evident^, therefore^, that habit is a most valu- 
able contributor to efficiency in action. Any process 
which increases speed and accuracy^ v/hile at the same time 
it diminishes the fatigue of labour^ is a possession to be 
cherished. 

But more important^ if possible^ than any of these results is 
the fact that through the, mediation of habits the physiological 
organism is enabled to cope almost unaided with situations 
which originally required the assistance of conscious processes^ 
and consciousness is thus left free to go about further attain- 
ments, which will in their turn become habits and be handed 
over to certain of the relatively non-conscious processes of the 
nervous system. Consciousness is thus ever going on in 
advance and building up coordinations, which are necessary 
to the most eifective reactions upon the environment. The 
whole course of mental development could truly enough be 
described as made up of this process of acquiring habits, which 
once imbedded in the tissues of the nervous system become 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 59 

the permanent possession of the individual^ ready^ when need 
arises, to step in and deal with the necessities of any particular 
situation. 

Acquired and Hereditary Habits. — If we now look back 
over the ground covered in this chapter, we shall see that con- 
sciousness occupies a curious middle-ground between hered- 
itary reflex and automatic activities upon the one hand and 
acquired habitual activities upon the other. The organism 
comes into the world with a small capital of these hereditary 
coordinations. These suffice to meet the most immediate and 
pressing needs in the conservation of life, but they are hope- 
lessly defective for the attainment of anything beyond these 
immediate necessities. ]^ow and again the world of light and 
sound and contact breaks in upon the coordinations which 
our hereditary neural mechanisms are executing, because the 
adaptive responses made by these mechanisms are inadequate 
to the organic necessities of the situation, and at such points 
we find consciousness appearing. Consciousness immediately 
enters upon its characteristic cycle. At first of course its ' 
activities are vague andjsrude. But presently it has selected 
from out the masses of motor responses created by the sen- 
sory stimulations to which the sense organs are sensitive, those 
particular ones which issue in effective muscular control over 
the environment, and straightway we are confronted with 
habits. As soon as these habits are firmly established, con- 
sciousness betakes itself elsewhere to points where habitual ac- 
commodatory movements are as yet wanting and needed. 

Thus the progress of events is marked by the emergence 
of consciousness from a matrix of movements which are ap- 
parently unconscious and hereditary, and its disappearance 
again aftera period of activity in the creation of the quasi- 
reflexes, which we call habits. It is an interesting fact in- 
cidental to this development, that when we attempt to inject 
consciousness into a process which is either reflex or habitual, 
we upset the accuracy of the coordination and mutilate its 



6o PSYCHOLOGY 

efficiency. Thus, to direct attention to the act of swallowing, 
which is a reflex, is to render it for many persons all but 
impossible of performance. Witness the common difficulty in 
taking pills. Similarly, to direct attention to one^s mode of 
walking often results in producing a thoroughly artificial 
gait quite unlike one's normal manner. The early experi- 
ences of appearance before the public, as on the stage, also 
illustrate this point. 

Habit and Will. — Although we do not commonly think of 
it in this way, a moment's reflection will show us that all 
expression of the will depends upon our ability to command 
habitual muscular coordinations. For example, I decide after 
careful consideration that duty bids me refuse a friend's 
request. Now note, that if I speak to my friend, I must fall 
back upon habits of articulation, which cost me much labour 
as a child to attain, but which now largely take care of them- 
selves. If I decide to write my decision, again I must employ 
habitual activities, and I cannot by any device communicate 
intelligibly with my friend without employing these or other 
similar muscular movements which are essentially habits. 
Neural habit, therefore, is not only the great emancipator of 
consciousness from the necessities of endless control over the 
same trivial round of acts, it is the great tool by which that 
feature of consciousness which we call the will executes its 
behests and renders our mental decisions and choices effective 
in the world of action. Without habits, consciousness could 
never get beyond the borders of the inevitable daily routine. 
With habit, however, it is able to pass from victory to victory, 
leaving behind^in captivity the special coordinations it needs. 

Intellectual Habits. — We cannot linger to develop the mat- 
ter, but it may be helpful simply to point out that the mas- 
tery of any subject matter, such as mathematics, for instance, 
involves a precisely similar establishment of habits, which, as 
the material is thoroughly mastered, are left behind for use 
when required. We do not ordinarily regard such attain- 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 6l 

ments as concerned in any fundamental manner with mus- 
cular movements^ although we all recognise readily enough 
that the sole manner of assuring ourselves a reliable command 
over a subject matter is to use it^ to do something with it. 
We sometimes think of such doing as purely mental. In 
reality^ however^ movements are involved in all cases^ and, 
even were this not true, the general principle of habit, so far 
as this stands for a law governing the transmission of nervous 
currents, would still be valid. The gain in rapidity, efficiency, 
and lessened fatigue would remain, not to mention the freeing 
of consciousness for further achievements. 

Apart from such command over special departments of in- 
formation, what are known as " habits of thought,^^ which we 
are often vaguely told we ought to cultivate, are in reality 
largely habits of exercising our attention. We are assured, 
for instance, that the pursuit of certain studies is valuable 
because it will teach us desirable habits of thought. Now when 
this assurance means anything more than the expression of a 
pious hope, it refers either to the attainment of a familiarity 
bordering on habit, with a useful field of information, or to the 
securing of general modes of approaching a new subject mat- 
ter; habits of alert attention, habits of logical division and 
persistent search for relations, etc. Whether any special studies 
are preeminently valuable in the production of this second 
class of results is a question which can be answered more 
judiciously, if at all, at the end of this book. Meantime, we 
shall not err seriously if we assert that a wholly fallacious 
value has often been placed upon so-called formal disciplines, 
which are supposed to teach us how to do things in general, 
without any special reference to accomplishi-ng particular 
results. 

Ethical Aspects of Habit. — The moment one gets clearly in 
mind the physiological nature of habit and its basis in the 
nervous tissues, its ominous significance for morality becomes 
evident. To break up a bad habit means not only to secure a 



62 PSYCHOLOGY 

penitent^ reformatory attitude of mind^ — this is often easy to 
achieve^ — it means a complete change in certain parts of the 
nervous system^ and this is frequently a thing of utmost diffi- 
culty of attainment. No amount of good resolution can- 
possibly wipe out at once the influences of nervous habits of 
long standing;, and if these habits are pernicious^ the slavery 
of the victim is sure to be pitiable and likely to be permanent. 
On the other hand^ the momentous significance for the indi- 
vidual and society of deeply imbedded habits of a moral kind 
cannot be overestimated. The existence of such habits means 
stability, reliability, and the promise of the utmost possible 
confidence. It is all but impossible for one to break over the 
moral habits of a lifetime. One may at times be mildly 
tempted by the possibilities such breaches hold out, but actual 
violation in overt action is essentially impossible. The man 
who has been vicious all his life is hardly free to become 
virtuous, and the virtuous man is in a kind of bondage to 
righteousness. What one of us could go out upon the street 
and murder the first person he met ? Such action is literally 
impossible for us so long as we retain our sanity. 

In view of these considerations, no one can over-estimate 
the ethical importance of habit. To make the body, in which 
our habits are conserved, one's friend and ally and not one's 
enemy is an ideal which should be strenuously and intelli- 
gently held out to every young person. One never can say at 
what precise moment it may become literally impossible to 
shake off a bad habit. But we know with perfect certainty 
that our nervous tissues are storing up every day the results 
of our actions, and the time is, therefore, sure to come 
when no amount of merely pious intention can redeem us from 
the penalty of our folly. Meantime, for one who has fallen 
under the sway of a habit he wishes to escape from, this gen- 
eral advice can be given : begin the new regime at once, do not 
wait for a convenient season. If tlie result is not likely to 
be physically disastrous, stop wholly, do not taper off. Give 



CONSCIOUSNESS AND NEURAL ACTION 63 

yourself surroundings which will offer the least possible 
temptation. Do not try merely to suppress the bad habit. If 
possible^ put something else which is good in place of it. See 
to it that you are always occupied in some proper way until 
you feel sure that the grip of the bad habit is loosened. 

On the other hand^ it is to be frankly admitted that viewed 
in a broad way the benefits of habit have their 'limitation. If 
the world always did things just as they have been done in 
the past our civilisation would approach that of the Chinese. 
But the changes which by the consensus of intelligent persons 
are beneficial to mankind^ the alterations of habit which are 
progressive^ are rarely such as have to do with those purely 
personal forms of action whose perversion constitutes the 
most flagrant form of vice. 

Moral progress always consists in a harmonised action of 
wider and wider interests, the securing of broader and truer 
visions of life. Such progress, while it may change old and 
accepted habits of life, does not for a moment involve any 
departure from those rules of personal honesty, sobriety, and 
chastity which the world^s history has demonstrated again 
and again as the foundations of all sane, happy human life. 



CHAPTER IV 

ATTENTION, DISCEIMINATION, AND 
ASSOCIATION 

Consciousness and Attention. — We announced our purpose 
at the outset to adopt a biological point of view in our psy- 
chological study, and to attempt at every step to see just how 
the mind aids in the adjustment of the psychophysical human 
organism to its environment. If we turn from the merely 
general statement that the fundamental function of con- 
sciousness is to better such adaptive activities, and observe any 
specific instances of the process of adaptation itself, we shall 
always find that the actual work of accommodation is going 
on at the point which we call the point of attention. Atten- 
tion, we shall accordingly discover, represents the very heart 
of consciousness, its most important centre of vitality. It 
therefore deserves our careful notice. 

In a vague fashion we all recognise this rudimentary sig- 
nificance of attention. Thus we speak of the awakening of 
the new-born infantas mind when we first see signs that the 
child is attending to something. Moreover, we roughly 
measure the growth of children in intellectual maturity and 
power by their increasing ability to give prolonged attention 
to definite trains of thought. Alienists and specialists in ner- 
vous disorders inform us that mental disease is commonly 
accompanied by disturbance in the power of . attention. In 
some forms of neurasthenia the attention is extremely un- 
stable and irritable, flitting from one subject to another with 
feverish haste. In mania there is often a similar, but much 
exaggerated, attention to the flow of disconnected ideas. In 
melancholia, on the other hand, as in the milder t3^pes of 
neurasthenic hypochondria, attention is morbidly fascinated 

64 



ATTENTION 65 

by some single idea^ or group of ideas^, and cannot be long 
lured away to the normal business of life. 

Definition of Attention. — When we attempt a definition of 
attention we experience the same sort of difficulty which we 
met in defining consciousness^ and for a similar reason. So 
long as we are conscious at all^ attention in some degree is 
present. We therefore find it difficult to define it without 
employing the thing itself in the definition. ( Because of this 
f act^ attention has been commonly referred to as a " general^ 
or universal^ characteristic of consciousness.^^ j In default of 
a wholly satisfactory definition of attention^ we may at least 
illustrate what we mean by the term. When we look at a 
printed page there is always some one portion of it^ perhaps 
a word^ which we see more clearly than we do the rest; and 
out beyond the margin of the page we are still conscious of 
objects which we see only in a very imperfect way. The field 
of consciousness is apparently like this visual field. There is 
always a central point of which we are momentarily more 
vividly conscious than of anything else. Fading gradually 
away from this point into vaguer and vaguer consciousness^ is 
a margin of objects^ or ideas^ of which we are aware in a sort 
of mental indirect vision. This fact that consciousness al- 
ways has a focal point, which reveals the momentary activity 
of the mind, is what is meant by the fact of attention, so 
far as it can be described in terms of the content of conscious- 
ness. Baldwin has suggested the accompanying diagram- 
matic presentation of the facts we are speaking of, in con- 
nection with certain others. (Figure 33.) The margin of 
mental processes, outside the focal point of attention, con- 
stitutes what James calls the '' fringe of consciousness.^^ 
Whether we are attending to objects in the world about us, or 
to ideas in our own minds, there is always such a fringe, 
partly made up of sensations, partly of ideas. No matter 
what we are especially attending to, we are never completely 
oblivious to all other sensory and ideational processes. 



66 



PSYCHOLOGY 




The direction of attention to any part of the field of con- 
sciousness is commonly accompanied by a certain increase in 
duration, together with a certain clarifying and intensifying 
of this part, as compared with the remainder of the field, 
which is thus inhibited from further entrance into the mental 
region. Thus, if we give our definite attention to a musical 
note we remark its exact quality much more perfectly than 

when we simply listen to it in a 
casual way. It is apt to seem more 
intense, and it certainly tends to 
linger longer in the mind. State- 
ments of this kind bring out the 
fact that we use the term attention 
at times as virtually synonymous 
with mental activity. To turn the 
attention to an object is simply to 
direct one^s mental activity toward 
it. Now, our mental activity, con- 
sidered as directive, is commonly 
called conation, and we must ac- 
cordingly conclude that attention is 
a rudimentary form of conation, or 
will. This is unquestionably true. 
We see, then, that attention is 
capable of being considered in 
two different ways. We may emphasise the mere fact 
of mental activity, illustrated by all attending; or we may 
dwell upon the structure of any moment of such attentive con- 
sciousness, and note the fact of its containing a focal point, 
with a fading margin. But our emphasis upon one or other 
of these phases of attention does not alter the fact that the 
mental process, which we describe in these two ways, is one 
and the same. In the remainder of the chapter we shall 
therefore make no attempt rigidly to dissever tliese aspects of 
every act of attention, although we shall be frankly most 



Fig. 33. Graphic repre- 
sentation of the 
field of consciousness. 
i, the unconscious 
(physiological) ; 2, 
the subconscious ; 5, 
diffused, vague con- 
sciousness ; Jf, active 
consciousness ; 5, the 
focal point of atten- 
tion. (After Bald- 
win. ) 



ATTENTION 67 

interested in attention as an instance of mental activity. 
Meantime, the best practical definition of attention is afforded 
by such an analysis and description of it as is contained in 
the remainder of this chapter. 

The Selective Character of Attention. — Probably the most 
striking characteristic of attention is its selective nature, and 
the significance of this function will grow more conspicu- 
ons as we examine the facts. We have seen that the nervous 
system is so constituted that by means of its sense organs it 
is capable of being affected by >Arions forms of motion in 
the physical world, e. g., light, heat, sound, etc. This fact 
has itself sometimes been regarded as a form of cosmic, or 
organic, selection. Thus, of all the rates of vibration in the 
physical world, the retina responds only to those between the 
limits of approximately 440 billions and 790 billions per sec- 
ond. In a similar way the ear selects a certain group of 
sound vibrations, and so on for the other senses. Undoubtedly 
there are manj^ forms of vibrations in the physical world to 
which we are wholly insensitive, because we have no sense 
organs appropriately attuned to their special rates, and are 
thus incapable of receiving them. 

However all this may be, it is easy to convince oneself that 
innumerable stimulations of the kind to which we are sen- 
sitive are always falling upon the sense organs ; and were we 
conscious of all of them at once our minds would present a 
curious conglomerate. As a matter of fact, only a few of 
these stimuli ever succeed in producing simultaneously that 
'form of cortical reaction which accompanies consciousness, 
and consequently we are never at any one moment aware of 
more than a small part of them. Apparently the psycho- 
physical organism selects from the wide range of potential 
objects those special ones which shall receive attention and 
so come to consciousness. Thus, when reading an entertain- 
ing book we may become altogether oblivious to the rattling 
of carts in the street, to the odour of the smoking lamp, to the 



68 PSYCHOLOGY 

contact sensations from our clothings etc. Similarly^ wlien 
we are preoccupied with some train of thought our atten- 
tion dwells upon this idea^ and turns away from that^ accord- 
ing as the one or the other appears to the mind to be relevant 
and useful for the business in hand. Indeed^ were it not for 
the selective activity of attention exercised in the form of 
reasonings it is clear that we could never make any consistent 
mental advance^ but that we should always be at the mercy 
of our sporadic ideas. We can^ perhaps^ examine this selective 
function of attention to best advantage by analysing the 
principal forms in which attention is found to operate. 

Forms of Attention. — Probably the most fundamental 
division of attentive processes^ and certainly one of the 
oldest^ is that into active and passive^ or^ as they are better 
termed^ voluntary and involuntary attention. A more satis- 
factory division^ which we shall adopts adds one more class^ 
and recognises (1) voluntary, (2) non- voluntary, or spon- 
taneous, and (3) involuntary attention. 

Voluntary Attention. — Active, or voluntary, attention is 
precisely what the name implies, attention as the result of 
definitely self-initiated activity. In its clearest and most 
unambiguous form it always involves mental strain and 
effort. Whenever we attend to anything because we expli- 
citly will to, we are exercising active attention. It matters 
not what the object may be to which our minds are thus 
directed. It may be a sound or an odour, an object which we 
see, or an object which we touch; a thought in the mind itself, 
a memory, an emotion, or anything one pleases. So long as 
it is attended to, as the result of our definite purpose to give 
it attention, it must be regarded as involving a case of active 
attention. 

That we are capable, v/ithin certain limits, of thus direct- 
ing our mental activity wherever we will is one of the 
easiest of facts to verify introspectively. Probably the 
reader has found repeated occasion, before reaching the pres- 



ATTENTION 69 

ent point in this book, to make just such voluntary efforts of 
attention to prevent his mind from wandering off to more 
attractive by-paths. Obviously the selective nature of atten- 
tion, upon which we have already insisted so strongly, is con- 
spicuously in evidence in active attention. Moreover, it seems 
probable that this type of attention, involving, as it does, the 
purposeful direction of our thoughts, would in its fully de- 
veloped form be a somewhat later achievement than the other 
forms, which require for their existence far less of experience. 
To direct one^s thought involves the possession of purposes 
and plans, however rudimentary, and these are the outgrowth 
of experience and relative maturity. Young infants are 
hardly capable of voluntary attention in any proper sense, 
although they may achieve both non-voluntary and involun- 
tary attention from the beginning. 

Non- Voluntary Attention. — It requires no extended reflec- 
tion upon our everyday experience to reveal to us the fact that 
in the course of every twenty-four hours we attend in an 
effortless way to a great many things to which we have no 
explicit purpose to direct our thought, to which we cannot, 
therefore, be said to attend voluntarily in the full sense of the 
word; but to which we certainly are not attending against 
our will and in spite of ourselves. Such cases constitute what 
is meant by non-voluntary, or spontaneous, attention. A few 
illustrations may make the distinction clearer. 

It happens not infrequently, for example, that we suddenly 
arouse to consciousness of the fact that for several minutes 
our minds have been running off on subjects quite discon- 
nected from the special occupation with which we may at the 
moment be engaged. We have ^^ lost ourselves,^^ as we say, 
in some day dream, perhaps. Our prolonged attention to a 
subject which sincerely interests us is often of this same 
character. Our attention is not given as the result of any 
effort on our part. Eather should we find that it required 
effort to direct our attention elsewhere. It necessitates no 



70 PSYCHOLOGY 

strenuous act of will for the boy interested in athletics to give 
his attention to a newspaper account of a football game. On 
the contrary^ his attention can only- be obtained for less ex- 
citing themes by some artifice on your part^ or hj a self- 
sacrificing effort of volition upon his. 

So far as these cases of non-voluntary attention reflect the 
actual nature of our interests^ they must be regarded as afford- 
ing peculiarly intimate information of the real character of 
our minds^ and so of our wills. They are thus^ in this par- 
ticular^ closely related to voluntary attention. After all^ 
what I am interested in^ is a very close synonym for what 
mentally and morally I am. Moreover^ it is frequently, and 
probably with right, maintained that this non-voluntary, or 
spontaneous, form of attention is the primitive germ, out of 
which voluntary attention in the full meaning of the term 
has developed. Certainly something like this, combined at 
times with involuntary attention, appears to form the begin- 
nings of infant attention. In any event it is clear that how- 
ever sharply we may be able to mark off at times those 
instances in which we attend as the result of a definite pur- 
pose so to do from those instances in which we find the allure- 
ments of an interesting subject have drawn off our attention 
almost unnoticed, both cases reflect very accurately the texture 
and character of our minds. To the relationship of these 
two forms of attentive activity we shall return in a moment 
with greater fulness. 

Involuntary Attention, — However genuinely voluntary and 
non-voluntary attention may differ from one another, they 
neither of them involve attention given against the vv^ill. But 
there are numerous cases in which, at first sight, anyhow, this 
form of attention apparently occurs ; and it is to this that the 
name *^^ involuntary attention'' has been given. Thus, for 
example, if the door slams while I am writing this sentence 
I am seemingly obliged to hear the sound, however much I 
might prefer not to do so. To be sure, if I am sufficiently 



ATTENTION 7^ 

preoccupied a very loud noise may in this way escape my 
notice; and the obliviousness to ordinary sounds^ such as the 
ringing of the dinner-bell, the striking of the clock, etc., of 
persons thus engrossed in some interesting occupation is 
too familiar to require comment. Archimedes, absorbed in 
his studies and unconscious of the sacking of Syracuse, is the 
classical illustration of this kind of thing. 

But despite the fact that when one is thoroughly immersed 
in some congenial undertaking one becomes relatively insen- 
sitive to sensory stimuli, which otherwise would be noticed, 
the further fact obstinately remains that even under such 
conditions stimuli of sufficient intensity will force themselves 
into consciousness. Certainly we should all agree that in this 
way bright flashes of light, loud sounds, unpleasant odours, 
etc., repeatedly intrude themselves upon our attention dis- 
tinctly against our wills. Moreover, there are experiences in 
which ideas, instead of sense impressions, thus force them- 
selves in upon our attention against our wills. What are 
known as insistent ideas are of this character. The hypo- 
chondriac, for instance, is unable long to keep his attention 
away from his own bodily ailments, real or fancied. He may 
make a sincere effort to divert his mind, but in spite of him- 
self the unwelcome idea presently shows its face at the door 
and claims his recognition. 

Less definitely morbid than such cases, and still illustrative 
of the imperious command exercised at times over our at- 
tention by certain ideas, are the intense experiences of the 
emotional kind. Great joy, great grief, great anxietj^, brook 
no prolonged opposition. We may attempt to force our at- 
tention on to the lines of the day's work and for a moment 
succeed, only to find ourselves in the next moment once more 
mastered by the idea we had attempted to put behind us. 
Certain psychologists would prefer not to give the name in- 
voluntary attention to these cases of attention against the will 
to ideas. But they are clearly more closely related to this 



72 PSYCHOLOGY 

form of attention^ as illustrated by our forced attention to 
intense sensory excitation^ than they are to the other classes 
we have distinguished; and we shall accordingly designate 
them as cases of involuntary attention. 

Interrelations of the Forms of Attention. — ^We have al- 
ready intimated that involuntary and non-voluntary^ or spon- 
taneous^ attention are genetically prior to voluntary attention. 
Undoubtedly the earliest experiences of a baby involve in 
largest measure spontaneous attention to sensory stimuli. The 
rude power with which some of these stimulations force them- 
selves on the child's notice might give ground for the postu- 
lation of involuntary attention also. But if we confine the 
term " involuntary attention '^ strictly to such cases as those 
in which we attend against our wills^ it is doubtful whether 
we ought often to apply the designation to a young child's at- 
tention; for we can hardly speak with confidence of the new- 
born child's possessing any resolution not to attend to a given 
stimulus. Spontaneous attention^ then^ working in the main 
upon the sensory material supplied by the physical surround- 
ings^ constitutes probably the earliest and most fundamental 
type of attention process. 

Voluntary attention is apparently a derivative form of 
spontaneous attention^, which may arise as soon as^ and when- 
ever^ there is a tendency to the splitting of attention^ a felt 
tendency to opposition against the direction our attentive 
energies are taking. Evidently this can only occur when we 
have developed intellectually to a suSicient degree to set over 
agair^t some momentary disposition^ or action^ a more or less 
definitely formed plan involving interests and purposes op- 
posed to the present activities. When we say that in volun- 
tary attention we force ourselves to attend to some particular 
object or idea^ what we evidently mean is^, that the mind in its 
entirety is brought to bear in suppressing certain disturbing 
objects or ideas^, and in bringing to the front the chosen ones. 
The act of voluntary attention is^ in shorty an expression of 



ATTENTION 73 

the sovereignty of the whole mind over its lesser parts, i. e,^ 
over the disturbing or alluring ideas and sensations. 

Now, spontaneous, or non-voluntary, attention is likewise in 
reality just such an expression of onr total mental organisa- 
tion at the moment. Those things to which we spontaneously 
attend are the things to which our minds, by virtue of their 
temporary condition, inevitably go out. And if we took into 
account the entirety of these spontaneous acts of our attention 
for any considerable period of time, we should undoubtedly 
secure an extremely accurate portrait of the real constitution 
of our minds. In the sense, therefore, upon which we com- 
mented briefly in an earlier paragraph of the chapter, non- 
voluntary attention is itself an expression of the individ- 
uality of the mind, and thus an expression of the true source 
of our volitional acts. It is a sort of voluntary attention, in 
which there is no internal, mental opposition to be overcome, 
and from which we are consequentlj^ apt to feel one character- 
istic fact of complete volition has been subtracted. But this 
does not detract from the fact that such spontaneous atten- 
tion is in reality an expression of the mental organisation, 
quite as truly, if not so completely, as voluntary attention. It 
appears, then, that the distinction between voluntary and non- 
voluntary attention is not absolute, in the sense that we can 
always determine without question to which class a specific 
case of attention belongs. Quite the contrary. It appears 
that there is a gradual transition from one class to the other, 
through cases which partake of the characteristics of both 
forms. 

Thus, for example, we should have to admit the existence 
of many cases in which it would be all but impossible to say 
whether we were attending to certain subjects as the result of 
a definite purpose and an explicit effort to attend, or as the 
result of more or less unconscious mental drifting. What 
shall one say, for instance, of the attention which is given to 
the routine duties of daily life ? Some of them undoubtedly 



74 PSYCHOLOGY 

require definite^ purposeful attention. Others enlist our 
spontaneous interest^ require no effort and reveal little or no 
antecedent purpose to attend. Many others are surely on the 
border line^ where it is not easy to say whether our attention 
is altogether due to spontaneous interest or to preconceived 
purpose. Meantime^ we must admit that it is in voluntary 
attention that consciousness raises the human being into the 
greatest freedom from mere routine^, with the greatest inde- 
pendence from mere temporary surroundings. 

The Psychophysical Organism and the Forms of Attention. 
— The true relation of involuntary attention to voluntary and 
non-voluntary attention can hardly be understood without 
reference to the psychophysical organism as a whole. But 
fortunately we have all along taken this into account^ and our 
present mention of it will mark no change in our point of 
view. 

So far as concerns such instances as those in which we are 
forced against our will^ or at all events without our mental 
consent^ to notice intense sensations^ it would seem that in- 
voluntary attention must be fundamentally opposed to volun- 
tary attention at leasts whatever might prove to be the case 
as regards non-voluntary attention. The one form of atten- 
tion expresses the will^ the other either defies^ or disregards^ 
the will. Such differences certainly appear to be funda- 
mental ; but we shall see reason to modify this view, when we 
consider that both forms of attention are vital functions 
which are brought out and developed in the general adaptive 
reaction of the organism to its social and physical surround- 
ings. If we remember that those objects which are harmful 
to us commonly stimulate the nerves very violently^ we shall 
begin to see how in the general economy of the organism it 
may be useful to have our senses so constructed that they 
shall call our attention to such possible sources of danger as 
are represented by these intense stimuli, even when we do not 
consciously desire to have our quiet thus invaded. We shall 



ATTENTION 75 

begin to see that in the interests of the continuation of life 
and health it may be desirable that loud sounds and extreme 
temperatures^ intense lights and violent odours^ should have 
the power to elicit the attentive reaction from us. In a sense, 
therefore^ such reactions are instances of a kind of organic 
selection from among various movements of just those which 
shall result in our making momentary accommodation to the 
invading stimulus. If it prove really menacing^ we may then 
take to flighty or adopt such other precautionary measures as 
the situation demands. If it be, in point of fact, innocuous 
or insignificant, our minds are left free to revert to the inter- 
rupted occupation. Involuntary attention of this kind repre- 
sents, accordingly, the protest of the primarily physiological 
portion of the organism against a too complete subserviency 
to merely intellectual conscious processes. 

Involuntary attention is only involuntary when the mind 
is viewed in isolation from the body. It is a kind of spon- 
taneous bodily attention, and it is undoubtedly selective in a 
true enough sense. Moreover, even when viewed from the 
mental side alone, such attention could only properly be called 
involuntary, never passive. The term passive is quite mis- 
leading. Involuntary attention, once it is aroused, is just as 
genuinely a form of mental activity as is voluntary attention. 
Its antecedents, both mental and physical, are in part different 
and often its consequences are different too. But both opera- 
tions are mental acts, and neither of thenwcan properly be 
designated in terms of pure passivity. 

In all forms of attention, then, we find selective activity 
going on. Selection always implies a purposive, forward- 
looking type of action, and this is precisely what attention is 
in all its forms. It stands for the fact that the organism is 
teleological in its very constitution. That is to say, the or- 
ganism contains within itself certain ends to be attained in 
course of development by adjustive activities. In part these 
ends exist imbedded in the physiological mechanisms, where 



76 PSYCHOLOGY 

they come to light as reflex, automatic, and instinctive acts, 
sometimes accompanied by consciousness; and in part they 
exist as conscious purposes, in which case they appear as 
recognised intentions. 

In spontaneous attention the selection seems to be psy- 
chically originated and directed, but it occurs without effort, 
even though the end to be achieved is clearly recognised and 
elaborately planned for. Voluntary attention also appears to 
involve a distinctly mental origin for selection, and we have 
no new factors here, save the presence of psychical conflict 
and the feeling of effort. We have seen that in voluntary 
attention this effort is always internal and mental — an effort 
to conquer our own impulses, or thoughts, in the interests of 
the end to which we are attempting to attend. It is thus 
sharply distinguishable from the effort to overcome merely 
external obstacles — a type of effort that often characterises 
spontaneous attention. Finally, in involuntary attention the 
selective activity is still clearly present, but its locus appears 
now to have been transferred from the distinctly mental to 
the more definitely physiological side of the organism. Of 
course, in our speaking of voluntary and non-voluntary at- 
tention as being primarily psychical in their nature, it must 
not be understood that we mean to deny the presence of 
neural processes accompanying these activities. All we 
mean is, that the selective action shows itself to us in these 
instances priviai^ as a mental event. In involuntary atten- 
tion it appears primarily as a physiological event. Both 
groups of attentive activity, however, have the double psy- 
chophysical characteristic. 

Duration of Attention. — It is extremely difficult to secure 
reliable information as to the length of time we can and do 
attend to objects in non-voluntary and involuntary attention; 
for the conditions in these forms of attention are necessarily 
very unfavourable to accurate introspection. But having dis- 
covered that the differences among the several forms of atten- 



ATTENTION 77 

tion are relative and not absolute^ we may, perhaps, safely 
assume that the facts which we find in voluntary attention 
are fairly representative of the other forms, and these facts 
are fortunately rather easy to make out. 'AH voluntary atten- 
tion displays a more or less rhythmic pulse, the duration of 
which varies considerably under different conditions.^ If we 
attempt to attend to a letter on this page, we shall nnd that 
we can only do this for a moment or two, unless we constantly 
observe something new about it. Otherwise we invariably 
find, either that the eye has moved away to something else, or 
that the mind has wandered off on to an entirely different 
subject, i However constant the physical object may remain, 
to which we thus attend, we can onl}^ continue our attention 
to it provided we continually see it in some fresh fashion; 
provided, that is to say, that the mental object keeps changing. 
This seems to be a fundamental law of our mental life, and 
did space permit we might profitably enlarge at some length 
upon its implication. A few consequences we may properly 
pause to mention.; 

Consequences of Shifting;^ Attention. — Evidently change is 
the primal law of mental life, as well as of bodily life. 
Thought processes which cease to move, cease to exist. They 
simply go out. To keep a thought alive we must keep turning 
it over, keep doing something with it. Mental paralysis is 
mental death. It is a familiar experience with all of us, 
especially with students, that occasionally when a question is 
asked us our minds either become perfectly blank, or remain 
for a moment stupidly confronting the mere sound of the 
words addressed to us. In such a case the only salvation lies 
in doing something, doing almost anything is better than 
such quiescence. Often to begin speaking is sufficient to 
break the spell, however pointless our remarks may be. The 
act of speech starts up the cerebral machinery and presently, 
if we keep our composure, we get our thought once more in" 
movement. Similarly, the boy told to think about what he is 



78 PSYCHOLOGY 

studying finds himself, in the effort to execute the injunction 
laid upon him, simply surveying the page before him with 
an apathetic gaze. He is merely exposing himself innocu- 
ously to the light waves proceeding from the page. Mentally 
he is either in a condition of partial asphyxiation, or his mind 
is off engaged upon something really of interest to him. He 
is not in any proper sense attending to the subject matter of 
his work at all. For such a youth the sole possibility of 
progress consists in taking the topic and forcing his attention 
to turn it over, ask questions of it, examine it from new sides. 
Presently, even though such questions and inspections be very 
foolishly conceived, the subject will start into life, will begin 
to connect itself with things he already knows, will take 
its place in the general furniture of his mind ; and, if he takes 
the next and all but indispensable step, and actually puts his 
rudimentary information to some use, applies it to some prac- 
tical problem, incorporates it, perhaps, in an essay, or even 
talks about it with others, he will find he has acquired a real 
mental tool which he can use, and not simply a dead load 
which must be carried on his already aching back. What we 
call attending to a topic for a considerable period of time will, 
therefore, always be found to consist in attending to changing 
phases of the subject. Thus, to fix one's mind upon history 
for an hour or two will involve attending to hundreds of 
thoughts about the special historical subject, or problem, with 
which we are concerned. Accordingly, these instances of the 
practical continuation of attention to a single subject strongly 
confirm our position, instead of contradicting it, as might 
seem at first sight to be the case. 

Why Attention Shifts. — It has been suggested that the 
rapid changes of attention are due primarily to fatigue in the 
delicate cortical cells which are connected with conscious proc- 
esses. Whether this statement be accepted or not, we gain a 
very significant suggestion in explanation of these changes, 
when we remember what the essential function of attention 



ATTENTION 79 

appears to be. (We remarked at the outset that attention is 
simply a name for the operation of the central^ and most 
active^ portion of the field of consciousness?) I We have all 
along maintained that consciousness is an organic function 
whose intrinsic occupation consists in furthering the adaptive 
responses of the organism to its life conditions. We have 
also pointed out that^ if this conception be true at all, it is at 
the point of attention that we shall find the most obvious and 
imporant part of the adjusting activity in progress. N'ow^ in 
the nature of the case^ each particular act of adjustment must 
be of relatively brief duration. In the case of common ob- 
jects in the world of sensations it consists as a rule merely in 
the recognition of the stimulus {e, g., as a colour^ as a sound, 
as a book^ or a word, etc.), with a motor response, which con- 
sists, perhaps, in some movement of the eyes or head, cal- 
culated either to bring to notice some new and useful phase 
of the stimulus, or to divert further attention altogether away 
from it. Thus we look, for instance, at a book, recognise it 
as the one for which we are searching, pick it up and proceed 
to examine it; in this way continuing the activity of attending 
to the book, but, as a matter of fact, continuing it in the form 
of attention to ever new features. The same sort of thing is 
true when our attention is occupied with ideas, instead of 
with sensations. In short, so far as attention is really an 
activity of the relating, adjusting kind, its work is done 
when the relation between the mind and the thing attended 
to is once established. This is the mental, as distinct from 
the physiological, part of the adjustment ; and attention must 
go elsewhere, because it is intrinsically the adjusting act it- 
self, and other things are demanding of the organism the same 
energies of adjustment. To retain our attention for any con- 
siderable period an object must, therefore, by changing its 
aspect, present itself as a new object, to which fresh responses 
can be made. 
1^ ) Range, or Scope , of Attention. — The question is often 



8o PSYCHOLOGY 

asked : How many things can we attend to at once ? Various 
answers have been given^ some authorities maintaining that we 
can attend only to one object at a time^ others insisting that 
we may attend to an indefinite number. We must sharply 
distinguish between the question in the form in which we 
have given it^ and the question often^ but erroneously, treated 
as synonymous with it^ i. e.y How many things can we do at 
one time ? We have seen in the preceding chapter that there 
is literally no limit to the number of things we can learn to 
do at once. It is^ in this latter case^ simply a question of how 
elaborate we can make our habitual motor activities. A 
skilled pianist^ or a trained acrobat^ may do dozens of things 
simultaneously. But the question of how many things we can 
attend to is much more puzzling. 

The differences of opinion upon the matter are^, however, 
apparently due in the main to a failure to define with pre- 
cision the underlying mental conditions. It is the view here 
adopted, that we never have more than one mental object 
before the mind at any one moment. This object may be 
complex, or simple, but if it is really present in its entirety 
to consciousness, it is cognised mentally as a single thing. 
To illustrate, we may take the case of perceiving a table. If 
we examine introspectively the manner in which we are con- 
scious of such an object, when we allow the eyes to rest mo- 
mentarily upon it, we find that we perceive it as a complex 
single object; not as four legs, plus a top, plus a colour, plus 
a particular shape, etc. Now, these characteristics of a table 
which we have mentioned all correspond to distinguishable 
parts of it, and we might speak in a certain sense of having 
attended to all these circumstances at once. But this would 
be an injudicious mode of expression, tending to confuse our 
ability to analyse the physical object, or our own conscious- 
ness of the object, with the fact of the manner in which we 
actually perceived it in our momentary glance. However 
many things, therefore, may be present to us at one moment; 



ATTENTION 8i 

it seems probable that our consciousness is of all of them as 
a single mental object, which we may, nevertheless, imme- 
diately recognise as being complex in its constitution, mean- 
ing,' and references. Indeed, we may go further, and say that 
in order to perceive an object as one, there must be some com- 
plexity in it, which we thus synthesise into a unit. A pure, 
undifferentiated conscious quality never does, and apparently 
never can, constitute the object of a cognising consciousness. 
Plurality is, in short, just as necessary for an object of atten- 
tion as unity; but our mental activity always gives the stamp 
of unification to these plural particulars. How many such 
particulars can be brought together in any one act of con- 
sciousness is a practical problem for experimental psychology. 

The various interesting experiments which have been per- 
formed to test the so-called scope of momentary consciousness 
must all be interpreted in the light of the foregoing consid- 
erations. Thus, we find that with momentary exposure we 
can cognise four or five letters, under proper conditions. // 
When the letters make words the number which we can 
cognise in this instantaneous fashion quickly rises. To these 
facts we shall revert in another chapter. 

Some sensations, which have become thoroughly dissociated 
from one another, seemingly refuse to come together at all 
into simultaneous objects. Thus, it seems altogether prob- 
lematic whether we can attend to a sound and a colour simul- 
taneously. We hear the sound and then the attention oscil- 
lates to the colour, or vice versa. The same thing is true of 
sensations of contact, when conjoined with either sound or 
colour. On the other hand, fusions of two kinds of sen- 
sations, like those of taste and smell, are of course al- 
ways attended to as simultaneous. They are not sensed 
as two. 

Inattention and Scattered, or Dispersed, Attention. — Inat- 
tention is often spoken of as though it were a positive mental- 
condition, just like attentioji, Ag a matter of fact inattention 



82 PSYCHOLOGY 

to any subject simply means attention to some other subject. 
In school-children of various ages this condition is often ex- 
asperating to the last degree. Its cause^ however^ is not the 
absolute loss of attention^ but the direction of it into some 
forbidden but attractive channel. Wanderings or sporadic, 
attention also is never, properly speaking, the negative of at- 
tention. It is simply the unstable, flitting, inefficient form 
of it. This condition is sometimes spoken of as scattered 
attention, and, when not due to actual mental disease, is cer- 
tainly attributable, if long continued, to bad mental surround- 
ings, i. e., surroundings which neither encourage nor give 
scope for the expression of native and normal interests. 
Dispersed attention is another much abused term. To have 
one^s attention completely dispersed would be to become 
unconscious. The conditions properly describable by this 
term are illustrated in the general lowering of our mental 
alertness when we become drowsy. Mental distinctions of 
all kinds tend, under such circumstances, to become blurred 
and indefinite. The state is one of fading attention. 
Nevertheless, as long as we are conscious at all, we are always 
more clearly aware of some part of the field of thought than 
we are of the remainder. Our attention is never distributed 
evenly over the whole of the conscious field. If it ever were 
thus distributed, completely dispersed attention would, in- 
deed, be realised. 

Motor Accompaniments of Attention. — In our description 
of attention thus far, we have made occasional reference to 
the part played by sense organs and brain ; but this has been 
somewhat incidental, and we have hardly noticed at all the 
conspicuous position of muscular activities. To bring out 
the significant facts bearing on these matters it will be con- 
venient to avail ourselves temporarily of another common 
classification of attentive processes, differing from that which 
we have employed. This is the division of attention as sen- 
sory, or ideational; a division which certain of our illustra- 



ATTENTION 83 

tions have involved. All attention to objects stimulating the 
sense organs^ every process^ therefore^, of sensation and per- 
ception^ involves sensory attention. All attention to ideas^ 
images^ thoughts^ etc.^ is ideational attention. The first type 
of activity involves both sense organ and brain, whereas the 
second type involves immediately only the brain. 

In normal sensory attention muscular movements seem 
always to be concerned. These movements are accommoda- 
tory, and are calculated to put the sense organs in the best 
attitude to receive distinct impressions from the objects stim- 
ulating them. In vision, for example, if we see to best ad- 
vantage, the eyes must converge upon the objects at which 
we are looking, the lenses must be accommodated to the dis- 
tance of the object, and oftentimes the head must be turned, 
in order to permit the most effective visual operation. In 
hearing, we similarly tend to turn the head toward the source 
of the sound, or at all events, to turn in that direction the 
more sensitive of our ears. In taste, we press against the 
substance in the mouth with the tongue in order to detect 
most fully its flavour. - In smelling, we inhale in order to 
bring the odorous particles against the olfactory membrane 
at the upper part of the nasal cavity. In touch, we explore 
the object with the hand, if we desire accurate information 
of its tactual characteristics. We find a similar state of 
things true, as regards all our sensations, when we make 
them the object of direct attention. 

Each of these cases illustrates the function of the sensorv- 
motor circuit. The light rays falling upon the retina set up 
currents in sensor}^ nerves, which are transmitted to cells in 
control of the muscles of the eyes ; and these in turn send out 
impulses, which result in convergence and accommodation. 
In some cases the sensory impulse may originate in a cortical 
centre, or in a sense organ other than that which experiences 
the modifications of the accommodatorv movement. Thus," 
the hand may be moved in response to an idea, or in response 



84 PSYCHOLOGY 

to a stimulus from the eye^ and not from the skin of the 
hand itself. 

Psychologists have observed a similar kind of muscular 
accommodation when our attention is directed to intellectual 
processes. Thus^ if we close our eyes and attempt to get a 
visual mental picture of some particular place^ it will gen- 
erally be found that the eyes tend to turn in the supposed 
direction of the imagined locality. In attempting to recall 
an odour we almost inevitably make slight movements of 
inhalation. In calling up images of taste, the tongue moves 
and salivation is stimulated. Furthermore^ the effort to fix 
our attention firmly upon any train of thought is generally 
accompanied by a strong tendency to assume some specific 
bodily attitude, in which we somewhat unconsciously seek to 
prevent the distraction of our attention by outside disturb- 
ances. In this effort the brows are often wrinkled, the 
breathing impeded, the body bent over and held rigid, the 
hands clenched, the head tilted in this way or that, etc. The 
attitudes which we thus assume evidently share with the 
sense organ accommodations already mentioned, the function 
of putting the organism in the most advantageous position 
for meeting the special demand momentarily laid upon it. 
The psychophysical effort at concentration overflows in move- 
ments calculated to assist in reaching the desired end. The 
actual value of these movements probably varies greatly, and 
depends (1) upon their success in eliminating, or neutralis- 
ing, the effect of the disturbing stimuli from without; and 
(2) in their contribution, through their cortical effects, to- 
ward the continuation of the ongoing activity. 

Thus, if more nervous energy is being liberated than can 
be properly disposed of by the pathways of discharge involved 
in the special matter in hand, these overflow motor pathways 
may be called in to take care of the excess of neural activity, 
and so indirectly further the ongoing occupation. The in- 
voluntary muscular processes, such as those of respiration 



ATTENTION 85 

and circulation^ also reflect the changes in attention. When 
attention is much perturbed, they display rapid and rela- 
tively violent oscillations. When, on the other hand, atten- 
tion moves along smoothly, these motor reactions are also 
stable. 

The motor activities which accompany processes of atten- 
tion necessarily, at least in the case of the voluntary muscles, 
send back to the cortex sensory impulses, which then enter 
into the general field of consciousness to modify its com- 
plexion and tone. These are sometimes spoken of as the 
'^ strain sensations ^^ of attention. It seems probable that 
there is a small group which characterises in some measure 
all attention, and that the use of any special sense, or any 
special, form of ideational process, involves another specific 
and relatively constant group. The intensity of these sensa- 
tions necessarily varies widely from time to time, and is com- 
monly greatest in cases of intense voluntary attention. The 
muscles most regularly and most obviously affected are those 
of the face, throat, and chest, although the hand and other 
parts of the body may be involved. The breathing move- 
ments are almost sure to be involved in cases of vigorous 
attention. 

Dr. Gordon has suggested another interesting explanation 
of the function of these strain sensations. It is possible 
that in attempting, for example, to force our attention 
along some mentally difficult path, we primarily crave more 
nervous excitement and stimulation, more push a tergoj and 
these muscular activities setting up definite sensory im- 
pulses, which return to the cortex, may possibly furnish this 
needed help. It may well be that all these accounts of the 
motor aspects of attention are correct. After what has been 
said it is, perhaps, unnecessary to insist that motor processes 
are bound up in an inextricable way with the movements of 
attention, both as leading up to its effective activity and as 
secondary consequences of its operation. The idea of the 



86 PSYCHOLOGY 

sensory-motor circuit proves to be radically implicated^ there- 
fore, in every form of conscious action. 

Genetic Features of Attention. — All the evidence which 
we can command, coming in part from the examination of 
our own mental operations as adults, and in part from 
observing how children deal with the objects about them, 
points to the notion that attention is from the very first 
engaged in the double process of pulling apart and putting 
together the various elements of conscious experience. These 
two processes are commonly known as dissociation and asso- 
ciation. It seems to be fairly certain that at the outset of 
life consciousness is extremely vague and crude in its organ- 
isation. To begin with, there is, perhaps, no definite distinc- 
tion felt between the various kinds of sensations, visual, 
auditory, tactual, etc. Certainly the process of distinguish- 
ing the various kinds of sensory qualities within the range of 
any given sense series — like the spectral colours in the field 
of vision — is quite slow in developing. The various colours 
are undoubtedly distinguished from one another very imper- 
fectly even up to a late period in childhood. ISTevertheless, 
after the first moment of consciousness attention is constantly 
at work, splitting up experiences which previously were felt 
as simple, and bringing about an increasingly definite aware- 
ness of the several distinguishable qualities within them. 
The analytical activity of attention is what we called above 
dissociation, or discrimination. Although we shall have a 
great deal to say about it under other titles further on in the 
book, we must glance at some of its more conspicuous features 
here. 

Analytic Activity of Attention. — Discrimination. — When 
the different distinguishable elements of any state of con- 
sciousness blend with one another, so that they lose their in- 
dividuality, we speak of the resulting condition as a case of 
fusion. Thus, the partial tones in a piano note are generally 
lost to us as separate sounds, and we seem to hear only a 



ATTENTION 87 

single musical tone. Similarly^ when we grasp a book we 
seldom distinguish the sensations of pressure from those of 
temperature and tendinous strain. These sensations fuse. 
Again^ the sensations which we get when eating onions^ or 
when drinking coffee^, we commonl}^ speak of as being tastes. 
In point of fact^ they largely depend for their characteristic 
quality upon smell sensations^, which fuse with the tastes and 
in consequence are entirely overlooked by us. Now^ it seems 
probable that the original tendencies of all sensory stimuli^ 
which impinge upon our sense organs simultaneously^ is to 
fuse in just this same fashion; so that were it not for this 
discriminative action of attention which we are describings 
we might remain oblivious to much of the complexity of the 
objective world. Meantime^ it must not be overlooked that 
once attention has succeeded in analysing some of these orig- 
inally fusing qualities^ we may find their distinctness and 
separateness enhanced by being experienced simultaneously. 
Colours^ like black and white, red and green^ may gain in 
definiteness and individuality by the contrast effects of 
juxtaposition. 

However it may be in later life^ there can be no question 
that during the first year or two the great agent in furthering 
discrimination is the change in the objective stimuli^ which 
affect the sense organs from moment to moment. Thus^ 
sounds sometimes occur simultaneously with stimulations of 
colour^ and sometimes they do not. Stimulations of red 
sometimes occur together with stimulations of blue^ and 
sometimes with white. These changes in the mode of sen- 
sory stimulation necessarily produce different forms of cor- 
tical reaction; and^ as consciousness is conditioned by these 
cortical activities/ we have thus a basis for different states of 
consciousness. That we are able to recognise the fact that 
one state of consciousness differs from a second^ and is lik^e 
a thirds is an ultimate fact which we cannot further explain. 
All psychologists agree that this is a fundamental attribute 




88 PSYCHOLOGY 

of consciousness^ and, so far as concerns the conditions 
under which we actually come in the first instance to attain 
this awareness of differences, the description we have just 
given seems to represent the undoubted facts. We can put 
the matter diagrammatically, as in figure 34. So long as a 
certain taste sensation T^ and a certain smell sensation S, 
are always given us together, we fail to note the complexity 
of the sensation, and we experience a fusion possessing a 

Fig. 34. 

single quality, 1 Q. When, however, the taste sensation hap- 
pens to be combined with some sensation X other than the 
previous smell, we can then note the fact that TX contains 
two qualities — 2 Q; and if 8 happens to be combined also 
with this X we may immediately note the three qualities S, 
X and T. In each case we have, by varying the concomi- 
tants, produced a new psychical condition, different from its 
predecessors, and in this way we have provided the pre- 
requisites of discrimination. 

Evidently, if these are the preconditions of our original 
capacity for the dissociating activity of attention, any device 
which facilitates the arousal of different nervous conditions 
will assist us in making our discriminations. Submitting ob- 
jects to successive, instead of simultaneous, inspection pro- 
duces a maximum of nervous difference ; and we find accord- 
ingly that if we wish, for example, to detect the heavier of 
two objects of nearly equal weight, we judge most accurately 
when we lift them immediately in succession. If we wish to 
tell whether or no two colours match, we let the eye pass 
rapidly from one to the other, etc. Of course, when the 
objects stimulate different sense organs there is already 
considerable difference in the nervous processes resulting, and 



ATTENTION 89 

to discriminate among them it is only necessary to let either 
sense be stimulated independently. The kind of discrimina- 
tion^ or comparison^ which occurs among ideas in the higher, 
processes of reflection, reasoning, etc., we shall consider at 
a later point. The form of dissociation which we have de- 
scribed clearly underlies the higher form, because it is con- 
cerned with our primary analysis into its rudimentary 
features of the world as we first know it. 

Synthetic Features of Attention. — Simultaneous Associa- 
tion. — Hand in hand with these dissociative, analytical ac- 
tivities of attention is to be found a synthetic process, which 
serves to unite the various dissevered elements, and to which 
the name association is commonly given. In a logical sense, 
one phase of this associative process really precedes and un- 
derlies the dissociative activity; for it is evident that if we 
are to differentiate the two qualities A and B from one an- 
other, they must already be together in the mind; that is, 
they must be associated in some kind of fusion such as we 
have just been descrihing. Thus, to distinguish the colour 
white from the colour black upon this printed page involves 
not only that the black and the white objects shall be side by 
side in the space before me, but also that they shall in a 
way be together in my mind. 

It is clear that everv act of attention must involve in 
some degree both discrimination and this form of ^^ simul- 
taneous association.^^ We may, for example, remark that 
the colours upon a postage stamp are red and white. Such 
an act is evidentlv one of discrimination. But it is also 
quite as truly one of association, for the qualities must be 
experienced together, must be mentally synthesised, that this 
special kind of discrimination may occur at all. 

Successive Association. — There is another form of associa- 
tion, known as successive association, a term which is com- 
monly restricted to the sequence of our ideas as they pass 
through the mind; and is not primarily and properly applied 



90 PSYCHOLOGY 

to our sensory and perceptual processes. We shall discuss it 
in connection with imagery and the higher cognitive func- 
tions. Even this kind of association of ideas-, however^ evi- 
dently involves discrimination ; for the ideas must be noticed 
as different, in order that they may be separate ideas at all. 
And conversely, so far as we remark differences in successive 
moments of consciousness, we must admit the presence of 
associative factors of some kind or other, uniting the several 
temporally distinct contents of consciousness with one 
another. 

Generalising, then, we may say that attention is both a 
synthetic and an analytic activity. Sometimes our primary 
purpose and interest in attending is to analyse and discrim- 
inate, but we cannot accomplish this without simultaneously 
employing association. And similarly, although we may be 
ostensibly engaged in connecting, or associating, the various 
items of our experience with one another, the execution of 
our task inevitably involves us in discrimination. 



CHAPTEE V 
SEiSTSATION 

Eudimentary Forms of Knowledge. — ^We now take up in 
detail the several forms of cognitive process through which 
we attain knowledge. This undertaking will necessarily in- 
volve onr examining various aspects of consciousness one at 
a time^ and we must unavoidably turn our backs temporarily 
on most of the processes^ apart from the special one we are 
for the moment engaged in studying. We must bear con- 
stantly in mind^ therefore^, this partial and tentative mode 
of procedure^ remembering that the mind^ which we thus 
analyse piecemeal^ is in point of fact a real unit. 

The first step in the activity of the sensory-motor circuity 
which represents^ as we have seen^ the unit of action in the 
nervous system^ is the sensory stimulation. This is reported 
in consciousness as a sensation^ at which point we shall accord- 
ingly begin our detailed study of the various portions of our 
psychological processes. Some psychologists regard the feel- 
ings of pleasure and pain as even more primordial than 
sensation in this primitive sensory-motor activity of the 
organism. Be this as it may, we shall find it practically more 
convenient to examine the cognitive functions of the organism 
first; that is to say, those which inform us most definitely of 
an external world. 

The Evolution of Sense Organs. — That it may be put into 
the most delicate and complete accord with the world in which 
it is placed, the organism must be capable of responding to 
the various objects found therein. To this end we find the 

QI 



92 PSYCHOLOGY 

sense organs so devised that they may give information about 
the most widely differing kinds of physical existence. 

There seems to be no doubt that even very simple forms of 
organism are sensitive in a rude way to most^ if not all^ of the 
types of sensory stimuli to which human beings respond^ e, g.^ 
lights sounds mechanical impact^ etc. This is simply another 
way of saying that protoplasm itself is sensitive to these 
modes of stimulation. But so far as concerns the develop- 
ment of definitely differentiated sense organs^, specially de- 
vised to receive particular modes of sensory stilnuli, the facts 
seem to indicate great irregularity and wide variation among 
different organic forms. The kinds of sensitivity which are 
most certainly and regularly present in the lower orders cor- 
respond most nearly to the human cutaneous sensations of 
touchy pain, and temperature. But beyond such a statement 
as this, we are hardly in a position to offer any definite out- 
line of sensory development. Not a few animal forms well 
up in the scale of organisms seem to possess sense organs 
unknown to man, the nature of whose functions we can, 
therefore, only speculate about. Moreover, when we come 
to animals on the level of the birds and quadrupeds, we come 
upon astonishing anomalies. For example, it seems probable, 
that some birds are essentialy destitute of the sense of smell. 
This is said to be true of vultures. On the other hand, dogs 
seem to live in a mental world in which smell probably plays 
a predominant part. Speaking generally, advance to any 
high level of intelligence is p^ccompanied by an increasing 
prominence of vision and hearing, and a decreasing promi- 
nence for the rest of the sensations. This fact seems to be 
largely due to the superior richness and flexibilit)' of the ma- 
terial supplied by these two senses for elaboration into idea- 
tional processes. Moreover, these senses are the ones which 
afford most detailed and accurate information of objects at 
a distance — an important consideration in developing organ- 
isms. Smell is their only rival in this particular, and for 



f 



SENSATION 



93 



purposes of general orientation^ as regards prey, or dangerous 
animal foes, is made large nse of by wild creatures. 

Neural Basis of Sensation in Man. (1) Cutaneous Sensa- 
tions. — Each form of sensation which we possess is appar- 
ently connected with the activity of a specially constituted 
end-organ. Thus, the sensations of touch or contact prob- 
ably come from the stimulation of minute structures in the 
dermis (figure 35), and from nerves 
ending about the roots of the hair. 
The available evidence makes it fairly 
certain that children have a more 
delicate and accurate sense of touch 
than adults. There is probably an 
anatomical reason for this fact. The 
skin of the child contains practically 
the same nervous innervation as does 
that of the adult, but the area thus 
innervated is much smaller. The 
difference is most marked on surfaces 
which are not commonly used for Fig. 35. 
touching. The touch, pain, and tem- 
perature apparatus in the nervous 
system is fairly complete at birth. 
Sensations of cold probably originate 
from organs in the skin, such as are 
shown in figure 36. It is possible, though not wholly certain, 
that sensations of warmth come from special structures, shown 
in figure 37; and in the epidermis are found the so-called free 
nerve endings, i, e., nerve fibres which become much attenu- 
ated and terminate without contact with any special end- 
organ. Their stimulation is believed to produce the cutting, 
smarting, burning sensations of physical pain, which must 
not be confused with the experience of mere disagreeableness, 
or unpleasantness. It will be seen, therefore, that the skin, 
which affords a covering for all these structures, is in reality 




Tactile corpus- 
cle of Meissner from 
the skin of the hu- 
man toe. Bl, blood- 
vessel ; N, medulated 
nerve fibre. (Barker 
after P. Schieffer- 
decker. ) 



a delicate mosaic of sensitive and insensitive spots. Certain 
spots will respond to stimulations with a sensation of cold, 
as may be noticed by passing a pencil point gently over the 
skin of the forearm; other spots with a sensation of pain, or 
pressure, and others with a sensation of warmth. Moreover, 
these temperature sensations can be produced by electrical 
stimulation, and by tapping upon the skin with an object 
which is thermally indifferent. This fact would evidently 
seem to indicate the existence of some special organ for 
these particular sensations. ISTaturally, the spots are very 

close together, so that it is often pos- 
sible to secure several kinds of sensa- 
tions from what is apparently one and 
the same spot. Figure 38 shows a rude 
map of these temperature spots, which 
are less numerous than the pressure 
spots, and much less numerous than 
those responding to pain sensations. 

(2) Kinaesthetic Sensations. — The 
insertions of the tendons and liga- 
ments are supplied, as are the muscles, 
with sensory nerves, by means of which 
we are made aware of the rotation of 
the joints when we move any part of 
the body. The sensations produced 
in this way are called kinaesthetic. 
Of their condition at birth we cannot speak with confidence. 
They are evidently present, but how perfectly developed we 
do not know. We occasionally have sensations arising in 
the viscera, and these probably originate either in the pain, 
nerves before mentioned or in nerves of the general tactile 
variety. 

(3) Olfactory Sensations. — The olfactory nerves terminate 
about the olfactory cells of the mucous membrane lining the 
upper portion of the nasal cavity. (Figures 39 and 40.) 




Fig. 36. Various 
forms of end- 
bulbs. The axis 
cylinder of the 
nerve Is seen ter- 
minating In little 
sac-like struc- 
tures. ( M c K e n - 
drick and Snod- 
gr as s a f ter 
Krause. ) 



SENSATION 



95 



The most acute perceptions of smell are probably not ob- 
tained before seven years of age^ because of mechanical diffi- 
culties in the form of the nostril. The abundance of mucus 




Fig. 37. Ruffini's nerve endings. Cylindrically shaped bodies 
formed of finely divided nerve fibrils. gH, sheath of the 
nerve ; L, connective tissue covering ; tn, terminal interlacings 
of the axis cylinder. (Barker after Ruffini.) 

in infancy has a similar effect^ producing obtuse smell sen- 
sitivities. 

(4) Gustatory Sensations. — The cells in the taste buds^ 
found as a rule only on certain papillae of the tongue (though 
occasionally elsewhere in the mouth) ^ furnish us with our 
taste sensations. (Figure 41.) This sense is well developed 
at birth^ a fact which^ perhaps^ has a- certain evolutionary 
significance. The sense is often defective in the feeble- 
minded. It seems probable that there is still further differ- 
entiation of the forms of this end-organ ; for certain regions^ 
like the base of the tongue^ are often especially sensitive to 
some one taste^ in this case bitter. The sides of the tongue 
are particularly responsive to sour^ the tip to sweet and to salt. 
The centre of the tongue is generally altogether insensitive to 



96 



PSYCHOLOGY 




taste. The leaves of the plant called gymnema sylvestre will^ 
if they be chewed, paralyse the sensitivity for bitter and sweet 

without affecting the other 
tastes. Cocaine, if applied to 
the tongue, causes first a loss 
of the ability to distinguish 
bitter, then sweet, and fin- 
ally salt and sour. Further- 
more, some substances, e. g,^ 
saccharine, produce one taste 
in one part of the mouth, 
and another taste in another 
part of the mouth. Sacchar- 
ine is sweet to the tip, and bitter to the base, of the 
tongue. All these facts are easy to explain, provided there 
are taste cells, which always respond, however they are stim- 
ulated, with some one taste quality. But the facts are not 
all as yet definitely determined, and we must consequently 
eschew dogmatic statements. 

(5) Auditory Sensations. — The auditory nerves terminate 
at the base of hair cells in the internal ear, such as appear in 

figure 42. There 

Fig. 39. Isolated cells from the 
olfactory region of a rabbit, 
magnified 560 diameters. 



Fig. 38. (7, cold spots; fl", hot 
spots. ( McKendrick and 
Snodgrass after Gold- 
sheider. ) 



are many thou- 
sands of these 
cells, and the pre- 
cise mode of their 
stimulation by vi- 
brations of the 
air is extremely 
interesting, but 
too complex and too problematic for detailed explanation 
here. Suffice it to say, that the hair cells are immersed 
in the liquids contained by the sac-like membranes of 
the inner ear, and that the external ear and the middle- 
ear contain physical devices (membranes joined by min- 



supporting cells ; s, short, stiff 
cilia, or, according to some, 
cones of mucus resembling 
cilia ; r, r, olfactory cells. The 
nerve process has been torn 
off the lower cell marked r. 
(McKendrick and Snodgrass 
after Stohr.) 




SENSATION 



97 



ute bones) by means of which the air waves outside 
the ear are gathered up and multiplied in power, so that 
they may cause the liquids of the internal ear to vibrate, 
and thus indirectly stimulate the hair cells. Figure 43 shows, 
the essential parts of the ear. The ear can respond with 
sensations of sound to vibrations of the air ranging from 16 
per second up to 50,000. The great majority of musi- 
cal experiences arise 
from tones whose vi- 
bration rates fall be- 
tween 64 and 5,000 
per second. We have 
once before called at- 
tention to the fact 17 
that, owing to the i^ — 

presence of mucus in 20 ' 

the middle and exter- i9-* 
nal ear, the new-born 
child is generally in- 
sensitive to ordinary Fig. 40. Outer side of left nostril; S, 
sounds. The position perforated plate of ethmoid bone, 



16 




through which pass the twigs of the 
olfactory nerve on their way to ol- 
factory cells of the mucous membrane 
lining the upper nasal cavity ; Q, ves- 
tibule of the nose; 8, entrance to 
middle meatus, or passage; IS, upper 
meatus leading into the throat; i8, 
entrance to Eustachian tube. (Mc- 
Kendrick and Snodgrass after 
Schwalbe.) 



of the drum mem- 
brane also contributes 
to this insensitivity. 
About four davs after 
birth most children 
will show response 
to loud sounds 'by 
expressions of fright. The sensitivity to high-pitched 
sounds seems to develop sooner than that to low sounds. 
Localisation of sounds seems to begin with many children 
at about four months of age. Children a year and more of 
age often seems extremely sensitive to very weak sounds 
which older persons cannot hear at all. 

The semicircular canals of the internal ear (figure 44) 



98 



PSYCHOLOGY 




also contain sensory nerves^ which terminate^ like the true 
auditory nerves^ about the bases of hair cells. We are said 
to owe in part to these organs our sense of total bodily trans- 
location^ our awareness of our equi- 
librium, etc.;, matters to which we 
shall return in a later paragraph. 
The fluid in the canals contains lit- 
tle calcareous particles called oto- 
liths. When the body moves in any 
given direction some of these oto- 
liths are supposed to lag behind, be- 
cause of their inertia, thus striking 
the hair cell filaments and setting 
up a sensory disturbance. As the 
canals are at right angles to one an- 
other, the fluids of some one or two 
of them would always be most af- 
fected by any single movement, and 
the sensations arising from them 
could thus by experience come to be connected with specific 
kinds of movements, e, g.y forward, backward, upward, etc. 
We shall speak at a later point of the alleged sensations aris- 
ing from these organs. 

(6) Visual Sensations, — The retina, which differs from all 
the other sense organs in being in reality a part of the brain 
removed by growth from its original location, contains a most 
elaborate series of structures. These are shown in figure 45. 
As in the case of the ear, we shall unfortunately be obliged to 
content ourselves with the most cursory account of this in- 
teresting organ. The optic nerves enter from the back of 
each eyeball, and the nerve fibres are then distributed radially 
all over the spherical surfaces of the eyes, as far forward as 
the lens. (Figure 46.) The fibres turn backward, away 
from the centre of the eye, and lose themselves among the 
basal cells of the retinal structure. The light waves make 



T'iG. 41. Taste bud seen 
in the papiHa foliata 
of a rabbit X ^^0 d. 
g, Taste bud, showing 
outer supporting 
ceHs ; s, fine ends of 
taste ceHs ; p, taste 
pore. ( McKendrick 
and Snodgrass after 
Stohr.) 



SENSATION 



99 



their way in through the dioptric media of the eye^ i, e,^ the 
cornea^ the aqueous humour, the lens, and the vitreous humour, 
and finally, after passing through the transparent optic fibres, 
come to the retinal end-organs, the rods and cones. (Figure 
47.) At this point the physical ether vibrations which we 
call light set up physiological changes in the nerve, and the 
nervous current runs backward along the nerve fibres, and so 
to the brain. 

The rods and cones respond to vibration rates of the ether 
between 440,000,000,000 and 790,000,000,000 per second. 




Fig. 42. Cross section of the organ of Corti ; p and p^, internal and 
external rods of Corti ; i and I'S internal hair cells ; e\ exter- 
nal hair cells ; mh, basilar membrane ; re, nerve fibres leading 
from the hair cells inward to the central nervous system. 
(Barker after Retgius and Rauber.) 



These are the rates of the light waves of the spectrum of the 
sun. By means of the six muscles which are attached to 
the external surfaces of each eye we are enabled so to move 
the eyes as to bring the rays of light from the object at which 
we are looking directly upon the central point of each retina^ 
the so-called fovea centralis^ the place of clearest vision. 
This process is convergence. By means of the lens in eachc 
eye, which can be made more or less convex, the rays of light 
from the object at which we are looking are brought to a 



lOO 



PSYCHOLOGY 



focus upon this foveal spot, and thus we secure a clear, well- 
defined image upon each retina. This act is called accom- 
modation. 

The retina is fully developed at birth, and som_e children 
apparently have a slight control over the movements of fixa- 




FiG. 43. Diagram of the ear ; natural size. 1, auditory nerve ; 2, 
internal auditory meatus closed by the cribriform plate of 
bone through the perforations of which the branches of the 
auditory nerve pass to the ear ; S-8, membranous labyrinth 
composed of S, utricle, 4^ semicircular ^canals, 5, saccule, 6, 
duct of the cochlea (the coils not entirely shown), 7, endolym- 
phatic duct with, 8, its saccule lying inside of the cranial 
cavity ; 9, lymphatic space surrounding the membranous 
labyrinth ; 10, osseous labyrinth of compact bone lying in the 
more spongy substance of the petrous bone, 11; 12, the 
oval window, filled by the foot-plate of the stirrup-bone ; IS, 
the round window, across which is stretched the internal 
tympanic membrane ; IJ^, auricle ; 15, 16, external auditory 
meatus ; 15, its cartilaginous, and, 16, its bony part ; 17, 
tympanic membrane ; 18-20, auditory ossicles ; 18, hammer ; 
19, anvil ; 20, stirrup ; 21, middle ear ; 22, osseous, and, 23, 
cartilaginous portion of the Eustachian tube ; 24, cartilages 
of external auditory meatus. (McKendrick and Snodgrass 
after Schwalbe.) 

tion at birth. This is, however, rare, and such control gen- 
erally does not come until the third week. But there is much 
variation. Older children surpass adults in their ability to 
see in a dim light, and to see small objects at a distance. 



SENSATION 



toi 




This is probably because the optical media, e, g,, the humours 
of the eye, etc., are with them more transparent. The colour 
sense is often apparently defective in children. But this 
probably means simply a lack of experience in distinguishing 
colours. The brighter colours are generally preferred. 
Genuine colour blindness is extremely rare among girls, 
whereas perhaps one in every twenty-five or thirty boys is 
defective. 

The Elementary Qualities of Sensation. — At this point the 
question naturally arises as to the number and nature of the 
elementary sense qualities which 
the several sense organs mediate. 
We must next address ourselves 
to the answering of this question, 
by scrutinising each department 
of sensory activity. We may 
profitably remark, however, at 
the outset of this undertaking, 
that these sensory qualities, such 
as redness and blueness, warmth 
and cold, etc., with which we shall 
come into contact, are highly ab- 
stract affairs, isolated by us for 
our psychological purposes from 
the larger matrix of actual conscious expeiience of which 
they properly form part. Thus, for example, we are never 
conscious merely and simply of the colour yellow. It is al- 
ways a yellow object of which we are aware, with some sort of 
contours, felt against a background of other conscious proc- 
esses, many of which are not even visual at all. But by turning 
our analytical processes of attention upon the yellow part of 
the whole experience, we can practically abstract it for our ex- 
amination, and study it as though it actually occurred singl}^ 
and alone. Throughout the next few pages, therefore, we shall 
be engaged in this process of abstracting pure sensory qualities 



Fig. 44. Membranous laby- 
rinth (diagrammatic), c, 
cochlea ; s, saccule united 
by p, the ductus en- 
dolymphaticus, with u, 
the utricle, arising from 
which are seen the three 
semicircular canals, 
(After McKendrick and 
Snodgrass. ) 



102 



PSYCHOLOGY 



for separate study. Indeed^ in a certain sense^ as we have al- 
ready emphatically remarked^ all our psychological analysis 
proceeds by abstracting now this and now that phase of con- 




FiG. 45. Scheme of the structure of the retina. A, layer of rods 
and cones ; a, rods ; ?>, cones ; E, layer of bipolar cells : (7, 
layer of large ganglion cells ; H, layer of nerve fibres ; s, 
centrifugal nerve fibre. (Barker after Ramon y Cajal.) 

sciousness for detailed inspection. But the fact requires 
especial notice in the case of sensations^ which we are apt to 
think of as mentally independent and isolated facts. They 
are only independent and isolated in a thorough-going way^ 
in so far as our reflective manipulation makes them so tem- 
porarily. We may add^ by way of definition, that it is the 
consciousness of the qualities of objects stimulating the sense 
organs which most psychologists mean to designate by the 
term sensation. 

dualities of Dermal Sensation. — From the skin we obtain 



SENSATION 



103 



as the rudimentary qualities of sensation^ cold, warmth, pain, 
and pressure; and some psychologists would add heat, a sen- 
sation said to differ from warmth, and to be caused by the 
simultaneous stimulation of cold and warmth. The evidence 
for this statement, as to the elementary qualities of the cutan- 
eous sensations, consists in the careful examination of every 
kind of psychical experience which we can obtain from the 
stimulation of the skin. At first, it may seem that we have 
many other elementary qualities peculiar to cutaneous reac- 
tions. Thus, it is common in the older text-books to see such 
asserted sensations as hardness, softness, wetness, dryness, 
active and passive touch, 
sharpness, smoothness, 
roughness, etc., referred 
to the skin. It is true, 
of course, that these sev- 
eral impressions origi- 
nate in the skin. But Nop 
they are quite certainly 
either compounds of 
pressure with some of the 
other sensations already 
mentioned, or else mere 
modifications of pres- 
sure itself. Thus, if one p^^^ 4^^ Scheme of retinal fibres, 
heat a drop of water to (James after Kiiss.) islop, optic 

the exact temperature of 
the skin, and then place 
it on the hand, it will 
prove very difficult to imagine any sensation caused by it 
other than pressure. Similarl}^, if a hard and a soft object 
be made therm_ally indifferent, and both be laid very gently 
against the skin, pressure will be the only sensation confi^ 
dently felt. As the intensity of the pressure increases, the 
difference will be remarked. But hardness simplj- means 




nerve ; S, sclerotic ; Ch, choroid ; R, 
retina; P, papilla (blind spot, 
where no retinal structure is 
found) ; F, fovea. 



io4 



PSYCHOLOGY 



more intense pressure^ plus, on most occasions, certain sensa- 
tions of effort, resistance, or strain, which comes from muscles, 
or tendons, and not from the skin. And so with the other 
experiences suggested above. When carefully examined, they 




Bet 
Chop. 



Sclen 



Fig. 47, (After James.) 

will all be found capable of resolution into pressure, or pres- 
sure and some other sensation, like that of temperature, or 
tendinous strain. Itching, tickling, and creepy sensations of 
the skin probably originate at times from the effects upon the 
dermal end-organs of circulatory changes. Occasionally, 
however, they are due to very light pressure stimulations. The 



SENSATION 105 

creepy feeling is often a complex of the prickly pain sensations 
with cold sensations, etc. There seems no reason to postulate 
any new elementary forms of sense experience because of 
these reactions. 

Kinaesthetic Sensation dualities. — Closely connected with 
the skin sensations are the kinsesthetiC;, or organic, sensations. 
When one lifts a heavj^ weight there is quickly noticeable, 
over and above the pressure sensation in the hand, a feeling 
of strain in the arm. When the hand is firmly clasped this 
strain is also detectable. This sensation without doubt is 
largely referable to the sensory nerves about the tendons. The 
muscles, also, have sensory nerves, as we have noted in a pre- 
vious paragraph, and there is undoubtedly a muscle sensation. 
But it is hardly possible introspectively to isolate the sensa- 
tion without experimental appliances, except in the case of 
moderate muscular fatigue. The feeling which arises under 
such conditions of fatigue is, then, the specific sensation con- 
cerned. The joints, also, are probably indirect contributors 
to this group of sensations, through their effect upon the ten- 
dons. Certainly we are extremely sensitive to their move- 
ments. The sensation which is experienced when we attempt 
to isolate the joint activity is strikingly like ordinary pres- 
sure. This isolation can be accomplished with sufficient 
accuracy by attaching a heavy weight to a cord, and then, 
while holding the cord, allowing the weight to sink rapidly 
to the ground. At the moment when it strikes, one feels a 
sort of '' snap-back ^^ sensation in the joints. 

Sensations From the Semicircular Canals. — Many authors 
are inclined to ascribe a pair of specific sensations inti- 
mately connected with the above (provided they are genuine 
sensations) to the semicircular canals of the internal ear. 
These canals, upon the basis of this view, are supposed to pro- 
duce the sensation of dizziness, and the sensation of change 
of rate of movement, when the whole body is being moved, as 
occurs when one is on a railroad train. It should be said of 



lo6 PSYCHOLOGY 

these dizziness sensations^ that the eyes play a very large part 
in them^ and also that various muscles may be engaged in 
their production. There is^ thns^ in no case any conscious 
reference by us of the sensations to the semicircular canal 
region. We simply feel our balance disturbed^ and note the 
misbehaviour of the visual field. 

Organic Sensations. — The respiratory and circulatory proc- 
esses produce certain sensory experiences closely akin to the 
cutaneous ones^ e. g.^ the sensation of '^ closeness ^^ in the air^ 
perhaps^ comes from a genuine intra-thoracic sensation. The 
sexual organs have a specific sensory quality ;, and the alimen- 
tary tract gives rise to the experiences of nausea^ thirsty and 
hunger. It may, perhaps, be questioned whether these last 
experiences are not resolvable into other simpler constituent 
sensation qualities, in which pressure and pain, for example, 
possibly play a part, and with which the affective factors of 
pleasantness and unpleasantness are markedly connected. But 
the disposition among psychologists seems on the whole to 
be in favour of regarding them as real sensations, with prob- 
ably some specific end-organ, although the case is far from 
clear. 

Olfactory dualities. — It is impossible at the present time 
to say anything definite about the elementary sense qualities 
of smell. The evidence at present available would make it 
seem probable that the number is large. We seldom make 
any attempt at classifying odours by their sense qualities, 
probably because practical exigencies do not require it. Our 
only common classification is based upon the affective con- 
sequences of the odour stimuli, which we divide into the two 
great classes, agreeable and disagreeable. We designate odours 
by the objects from which they come, e. g.^ violet, orange, 
leather, etc., adding occasionally to these terms metaphors 
borrowed from taste, e. g., sour, sweet, terms which are not 
always applied unambiguously to the mere sense quality, but 
often involve reference to affective processes, and to other 



SENSATION 107 

concomitant activities^ both mnscnlar and sensory. For 
example^ a sour smell is often one which stirs np unpleasant 
gustatory sensations^ with choking contractions of the throat. 
The classification most nsed in a practical way at the present 
time is Zwaardemaker^s modification of Linnaeus^ table: 

1 — Ethereal smells^ including fruit odours. 

2 — ^Aromatic smells^ e, g., camphor^ spice. 

3 — Fragrant smells^ e, g,^ many flowers, violets, sweet 
peas, etc. 

4 — Ambrosiac smells, e. g.^ musk. 

5 — Alliaceous smells, e. g, garlic, chlorine. 

6 — EmpjTCumatic smells, e. g.^ burning tobacco, burnt 
toast, coffee. 

7 — Hircine smells, e, g.y cheese. 

8 — Virulent smells, e. g,, opium. 

9 — N^auseous smells, e. g., decaying animal matter. 
This classification of the table has a purely practical value, 
however, and cannot be in any way accepted as representing 
the irreducible sense q^ialities. 

The Qualities of Taste Sensations. — There are, without 
much question, four and only four elementary qualities of 
taste sensation, i. g., sour, salt, sweet, and bitter. What we 
commonly call tastes are generally compounds, or fusions, of 
taste with temperature, pressure, and smell. Thus, as we have 
remarked at an earlier point, the characteristic taste of onions 
will be found astonishingly altered, if one close the nostrils 
firmly before taking the onion into the mouth. Some au- 
thorities incline to add two other elementarj^ tastes to the list 
of gustatory qualities, i. e., alkaline and metallic. But on the 
whole, it seems probable that these are compounds of the 
others alreadv mentioned. Certainlv it is remarkable to see 
how completely these four suffice to describe the true taste 
sensations, when we are given a large number of substances 
to test by taste alone, without knowing in advance what they 
are to be. . To make this experiment satisfactorily, one must 



lo8 PSYCHOLOGY 

see to it that smell is absolutely ruled out, that the tempera- 
ture of the substances is that of the mouth itself; and one 
must be careful not to confuse the prickings puckering effects 
of certain substances^ which are not taste sensations at all, 
with the true taste quality. Furthermore, one must employ 
solutions to make the test, for many food substances produce 
characteristic contact sensations which we instantly recog- 
nise. Finally, there is a striking difference in the sensitive- 
ness of various parts of the tongue, as was pointed out in an 
earlier paragraph, to these four kinds of taste stimuli. J^o 
other tastes show this local peculiarity. 

Auditory Qualities. — Our auditory sensations fall naturally 
into two great groups — noises and tones. But each of these 
can be subdivided again into a very large number of distin- 
guishable qualities. We get the sensation qualities which we 
call noise when less than two complete vibrations of a sound 
wave are allowed to reach the ear ; or, what is perhaps, owing 
to the reflection of the sound, the same thing, when the waves 
which do reach the ear are irregular and non-periodic in their 
mode of vibration. These irregularities may evidently be in- 
definite in number, and so we get such differences in the 
sounds as distinguish, for example, the noise of a train from 
the noise of a drum. These last mentioned cases, however, 
are what are called complex noises, and are conceived as made 
up of aggregations of 'the simple noises first mentioned, of 
which we can detect some 550 or more. The sensation of 
tone comes from bodies which vibrate periodically and regu- 
larly, like the pendulum. Such bodies are represented best by 
tuning-forks. In this case we can distinguish some 11,000 
qualities. The differences among these qualities are primarily 
what we call differences in pitch. These arise from differ- 
ences in the vibration rates of the sounds, and, as we have 
already learned, we can hear tones ranging in vibration rate 
from 16 to 50,000 per second. It must be remembered that 
the musical tones which we commonly hear are not sim- 



SENSATION 109 

ple^ but complex^ being constituted of a number of tones 
— the fundamental and its overtones. The nature^, num- 
ber^ and relative intensity of these partial tones deter- 
mines the timbre of a sound. The characteristic differ- 
ences in the tone quality of different instruments has this fact 
as its basis. In the piano^ for instance^ there is a rich and 
well-balanced set of the lower partial tones. In the clarinet 
the odd overtones are predominant ; in the flute these overtones 
are few and weak^ etc. The evidence for these facts is not 
easily obtained without the use of apparatus. But the rough 
acoustic difference between noise and tone is fortunately 
familiar to us all^ and the other points which we have noted 
we shall have to accept on authority. 

Visual dualities. — Like the auditory sensations^, our visual 
sensations fall into two general classes — sensations of bright- 
ness and sensations of colour. The brightness sensations are 
caused by the impingement upon the retina of mixed light 
waves of various lengths; thus^ what we call white light is 
made up of light waves-of all lengths. Pure colour sensations 
are produced by homogeneous light waves, or waves of prac- 
tically equal length. As a matter of fact, we never experience 
colours without getting a measure of brightness sensation 
also. Although it is convenient to distinguish the two forms 
of sensation from one another, this concomitance must not be 
forgotten. If we gradually decrease the intensity of white 
light, we pass first through a series of shades, to which we 
should ordinarily apply the name grey, and come finally to 
black. Black and white are thus the extremes of the bright- 
ness series of sensations, and between them occur the various 
shades of grey. We are able to distinguish some 700 different 
brightness qualities between the deepest black and the most 
brilliant white. 

We are in the habit of referring to the spectral colours, of 
qualities, as being seven in number, i, e., red, orange, yellow, 
green, blue^ indigo-blue, and violet. This is, however, a 



no PSYCHOLOGY 

merely practical and somewhat arbitrary division. These 
names apply to distinctions in colonr tone which we promptly 
and easily remark when looking at a sunlight spectrum. But 
in reality the colour between pure green and pure blue is just 
as truly entitled to a separate name as is orange^ a colour 
which distinctly suggests both red and yellow. Purple^ too^ 
which can be formed by mixing red and violet^ the colours at 
the ends of the spectrum^ is a perfectly genuine colour quality^ 
deserving to rank in this respect with the spectrum colours 
themselves. When we are given proper experimental condi- 
tions we find we can distinguish some 150 spectral qualities. 
This includes the purple. 

Elementary Colour Relations. (1) Mixtures and Comple- 
mentaries. — If we now apply to vision the mode of analysis 
we have employed heretofore in the case of other sensations^ 
and attempt to reduce the visual spectral qualities^ apart from 
brightness^ to those which seem really elementary^ we shall 
find four such colours remaining^ i. e.^ red^ yellow^ green^ 
and blue. All the others^ when closely inspected^, appear to 
us to be compounds. Orange^ we have already remarked^ 
appears both reddish and yellowish. Violet has traces both 
of blue and red^ and so with all the transitional hues 
leading from one of these elementary colours to another. 
Moreover^ if we be given these four colours^ we can^ as we 
should naturally expect^, produce all the other spectral hues 
by mixing these elements in proper proportions. Among the 
mixtures which we can make in this way are certain very 
peculiar ones^ which result when we take two such colours as 
yellow and blue^ or red and blue-green. These pairs of colours, 
when mixed together^ give us^ instead of a new spectral hue, 
simply grey. Colours whose mixture results thus in grey are 
called complementary colours, and every colour has some com- 
plementary in the spectral series, except green, whose comple- 
mentary is purple, a mixture of red and blue. (Figure 48 
shows these relations.) 



SENSATION III 

(2) After-images. — Our visual sensations are in one par- 
ticular very remarkable^ as compared with our sensations of 
other kinds. The after-effects of sensorv stimulation last 
longer and are more peculiar than is apparently the case else- 

RED 







\ 


^ 






f 


^ 




WHITF 


^ 


-< 






3n 




^ 


m 

/o 



Fig. 48. The colours at opposite ends of any diameter of the 
circle produce white, if mixed \yith one another. Purple, 
which is the complementary colour to green, is not found in 
the spectrum, but is produced by a mixture of the end-colours 
of the spectrum, red and violet. 

where. There are two principal forms of after-images^ as 
they are called^ i. e.^ positive and negative. After-sensations 
would^ perhaps^, be the better term for them. If one suddenly 
looks at a very bright lights and then closes the eyes^ the light 
continues to be seen for some seconds in its proper intensity 
and hue. This phenomenon is a positive after-image. If 
one looks for a few seconds fixedly at a bit of blue paper, and 
then closes the eyes, or turns them upon some neutral grey 
back-ground, one sees a yellow patch corresponding in shape 
to the blue stimulus. This is a negative image. Negative 
images invert the relations of brightness in the stimulus, so 



112 PSYCHOLOGY 

that what was white in the object appears black in the after- 
image^ and vice versa. They also convert all spectral colours 
and their compounds into their several complementaries. 
While all the senses display after-effects similar to the positive 
visual after-image, none of them has anything precisely 
comparable with the negative image. 

(3) Colour Contrast. — The phenomena of contrast also, 
although characterising in a measure all sense domains, and 
for that matter all conscious processes, are especially striking 
in vision. Yellow and blue appear respectively yellower and 
bluer, when seen side by side, than when seen apart. This 
seems to be largely because of the fact that the eye moves 
slightly from one to the other; and the eye fatigued for 
blue already has a disposition to react with the yellow after- 
image. If the part of the retina containing this yellow after- 
image process is then exposed to the real objective yellow, the 
power of the stimulus is much enhanced, and we see a deeper, 
more intense yellow than we otherwise should. This phenom- 
enon is called successive contrast. Simultaneous contrast 
is an even more interesting phenomenon, and may be illus- 
trated by putting a small bit of grey paper upon any coloured 
field, and then covering the whole with thin white tissue 
paper. The grey patch will, under such conditions, always 
appear as of a colour complementary^o that of the field, i. e., 
it will appear blue, when the field is yellow ; yellow, when it is 
blue ; reddish when it is green, etc. The explanations offered 
for this phenomenon would take us too far into physiological 
psychology, and we must rest content with the general con- 
clusion that our colour sensations are dependent, not only 
upon the colour of the objects immediately fixated, but also 
upon the colours surrounding it, and upon the immediately 
preceding stimulation. 

(4) Defects in Colour Vision. — ^Finally, we may remark, 
that the peripheral portions of the retina are seriously de- 
fective in their colour reactions. Accurate colour vision 



SENSATION 113 

belongs only to the central portion of the retina around the 
fovea. According to most observers^ red and green are only 
seen accurately for a short distance outside this region. 
Yellow and blue are lost next^ and in the extreme periphery 
only white and grey can be sensed. This condition suggests 
the pathological colour-blindness from which many persons 
suffer even at the fovea. 

Compound dualities. — In addition to these colour sensa- 
tions of which we have been speakings large numbers exist 
formed by combining the several spectral qualities (150) 
with the brightness qualities (700). Some 30,000 distin- 
guishable qualities can be produced in this way. Thus 
red, for example, can be mixed with white to produce various 
tints, which we call pink; or with black to produce various 
shades, which we designate brown. Figure 49 displays in a 
general way these relations. 

Summary of Sensation Qualities. — Eeverting now in con- 
clusion to the matter from which we started, and taking all 
these sensations into account, which we have found originat- 
ing in the various sense organs, we shall find that, even dis- 
regarding smell, of which we cannot speak confidently, we are 
supplied with more than 42,000 distinguishable sensory 
qualities. On the other hand, if we consider only the irre- 
ducible sense qualities, like redness and sweetness, and call 
these the sensation elements, we have probably not more than 
20 or 25 when smell and sound are left out of the count. 
The problem of reduction to simple sense forms is, in the 
case of these last two groups of sensations, fraught with great 
diflBculty and uncertainty. 

The Intensity of Sensations. — We have remarked incident- 
ally a number of times in this chapter, that our sensations 
originate from the stimulation of a specific sense-organ by 
some form of motion in the physical world about us, such, 
for example, as the air waves, the ether waves, the heat waves, 
etc. But it is not only necessary that these various forms of 



114 



PSYCHOLOGY 



stimuli should fall upon the sense organs. It is also nec- 
essary that they should possess sufficient intensity ;, if we are 
to become conscious of them, A very faint light; a very faint 
sounds a very faint odour^ may fail altogether to produce a 
sensation in us. The point at which such a stimulus becomes 
intense enough to produce a sensation is called the limen, or 
y^ the threshold. It is also a mat- 

ter of frequent observation 
that when sensory stimuli be- 
come very intense they cease 
to be felt as they were before^ 
and we experience pain in- 
^ stead. A very bright and 
blinding light may cause acute 
pain. A loud^ shrill sound, 
extreme heat^, and extreme 
cold are all painful. The 
point at which the various 
stimuli are thus felt as pain- 
ful is known as the upper 
limit of sensation. Between 
the limen and the upper limit 
fall an indefinite number of 
gradations of sensory intensi- 
ties. It should be noted in 
passing, that certain olfactory 
and gustatory stimuli can 
hardly be obtained in suffi- 
cient intensity to be called painful; and also that many very 
weak sensations are unpleasant, e, g, weak sounds and faint 
lights, the tickling from delicate cojitact, etc. 

Weber's Law. — Exhaustive experiments have revealed a 
very interesting law, known after its first careful investigator 
as " Weber's Law,'' which obtains among the relations of 
these sensation intensities, as we experience them. When we 




Fig. 49. The colour pyramid. 
The line WB corresponds 
to the white-black series of 
colours ; the plane BJ. YG 
represents the most satur- 
ated spectral colours — e. g., 
blue, red, green. The lines 
joining W and B with the 
letters representing the 
several spectral colours, e. 
g., Bl. and G, illustrate the 
transitional tints and 
shades. (After Ebbing- 
haus. ) 



SENSATION 115 

place a weight of 20 grams upon the hancl^ we find that we 
observe no change in the pressure sensation nntil a whole 
gram has been added to the 20. If we take 100 grams we 
must add 5 grams before we can observe the change in inten- 
sity; and, speaking generallj^;, whatever absokite weight we 
start with, we find always that we mnst add the same fraction 
of its own weight, that is, 1-20, in order to feel that the 
pressure has changed. A similar thing holds true of the 
intensity of sounds, but in this case the fraction is approxi- 
mately 1-3. In sensations of brightness the change must be 
1-100, etc. In all these cases the formula is most nearly true 
in the medium ranges of intensity. When we approach the 
limen or the upper limit, the relations seem to become irreg- 
ular, and in the case of certain senses, like smell, the appli- 
cation of the law is somewhat dubious. 

Duration of Sensations. — We have seen that every stimulus 
must possess a definite intensity before it can give rise to a 
sensation ; and it is even more obvious that every such stimulus 
must also possess a certain duration, if it is to be felt. More- 
over, many sensations are very profoundly altered by pro- 
longed duration. Thus, colour sensations will be found to 
grow dim and to fade, if long continued. Some sensations of 
sound, on the other hand, seem to become more intense, if 
continued, and finally occasion pain. The detailed facts 
about the influence of duration upon sensory processes cannot 
at present be both accurately and briefly set forth, and we 
shall therefore pass them by. 

Extensity in Sensations. — Certain sensations, like those of 
vision and touch, always possess, in addition to the pre- 
viously mentioned characteristics of duration and intensity, 
a definite spatial quality. Some distinguished psychological 
authorities insist that all sensations are thus spatial, sensa- 
tions of sound and smell and taste, as well as those of touch 
and sight. This is not, howeyer, the prevalent view, and we 
shall not discuss the matter here. Suffice it to say, that a 



Il6 PSYCHOLOGY 

colour sensation cannot exist at all without being experienced 
as possessing extensity. The same thing is true of pressure; 
and^ in general^ all sensations which ever possess the quality 
of extensity always possess it, just as they possess duration 
and intensity. The kinsesthetic sensations are admitted by 
all psychologists to belong, with pressure, temperature, and 
vision, to the spatial senses. 

If we bring together the points we have gone over in dis- 
cussing the quality, extensity, duration, and intensity of sen- 
sations, we shall see that quality is, in a definite sense, the most 
fundamental thing about a sensation, and that the other 
characteristics can fairly be regarded, for our psychological 
purposes, as subordinate attributes of quality. Thus, a given 
musical tone may last one second, or three, without essential 
change of the pitch, which is its quality, psychologically 
speaking. It may be louder, or softer, without changing its 
pitch. Furthermore, it may change its timbre, which seems 
to be a sort of secondary quality, by changing its overtones, 
and still retain its pitch, or primary quality, unaltered. Sim- 
ilarly, a sensation of red may come from an object one inch 
square, or from one two inches square, without noticeably 
changing the hue of the colour. 

General Characteristic of the Sensation duality. — The 
fundamental characteristic common to all the sensations is a 
certain something which they occasion in us, for which shock 
is possibly the most appropriate name. This characterises 
all transition in consciousness, and especially consciousness of 
immediate sense activities. 

Primary Function of Sensation. — X consideration of the 
sensory-motor circuit makes it evident that the primary 
organic function of the sensory element in consciousness must 
be that of instigating movements. Moreover, in Chapter III. 
we examined certain typical instances, in which we found sen- 
sation processes operating to produce movements, and then 
further operating to report the results of those movements. 



SENSATION 117 

thus assisting in the establishment of useful coordinations. 
Although we shall be analysing in the next few chapters 
the details in the process of acquiring control over the move- 
ments which sensations thus bring about^ it only remains^ 
so far as concerns the rudiments of this process^ to add one 
thing. When we say that sensory stimulation instigates 
movements^ we must not make too sharp a distinction be- 
tween the stimulation^ as sensed^ and the tnovement, when a 
response is made without deliberation. The nervous process 
is practically a continuous forward movement of impulses 
from the sense organs clear around to the muscles. There is 
nowhere any essential break in this feature of the activity. 
The act is literally a unit. 

Similarly, if we examine the facts closely, we shall see 
that the sensory reaction is simply the registration in con- 
sciousness of a c^^^n kind of act, and that it varies markedly 
with the kind o^Bsponse that is executed by the muscles. 
What we should commonly call a sensation of a disagreeable 
odour consists not only in the consciousness of a certain kind 
of olfactory quality; it consists also in the consciousness of 
tendencies to movement, ' e. g., choking movements in the 
throat, violent expiratory movements, movements of the head 
away from the source of the odour, etc. The sensation of the 
odour is instantly merged with other sensations which these 
movements call out, and is markedly modified by them. Fur- 
thermore, the kind of sensation which we get from an odour 
in the first instance will be definitely determined by the kind 
of movement in progress at the moment when we come into 
contact with the stimulus. If we are not expecting the 
odour, our breathing may be free and deep. In consequence, 
we obtain a deep inhalation of the noxious fumes, and from 
the blending of this impression with the ongoing mental ac- 
tivity, one kind of sensation results. If we are expecting t^le 
odour, or if our breathing happens momentarily to be super- 
ficial, the sensation is much modified and weakened. So we 



^ 



Il8 PSYCHOLOGY 

see that our consciousness of sensory stimuli is qualified on 
both sides by movements^ i. e.^ by those movements which 
lead up to it^ and by those which follow it. The sensation- 
movement process is^ therefore^ essentially a continuous things 
and our analysis of it into parts is simply for the readier ap- 
prehension of its characteristics^ and does not at all imply any 
such actual severance of the various stages of it. 

Secondary Function of Sensation, — When our attention is 
called to the fact;, we readily notice^ as was intimated earlier 
in the chapter^ that if our sense organs are stimulated^ we are 
commonly made conscious of objects^ rather than of mere 
qualities^ such as we have been^^-^escribing in this chapter. 
Thus^ if our eyes are exposed to stimulations of lights we or- 
dinarily see such things as people^ or trees^ or houJ^es^ and we 
do not think of such objects as being merely so much colour. 
We can^ of course^ note and recall the ^^mrs which belong 
to these objects^ but as our eyes rest up^Biem we are cer- 
tainly in adult life infrequently conscioi^of them as mere 
aggregates of colour qualities. Similarly^ when we hear 
familiar words^ it is very rarg, that- the simple quality of the 
vocal sounds monop/jlises our attention. Instead of this^ we 
are instantly absorbed in the meaning of the words. On the 
other hand, a single musical tone, an unfamiliar fragrance, a 
feeling of warmth, may enter our consciousness almost as 
pure qualities, to the objective character of which we are prac- 
tically oblivious. JsTow, the difference between these two 
classes of experience marks the difference between sensation 
and the next of the cognitive processes which we shall study, 
i. e.y perception; and before we can understand satisfactorily 
the function of sensation, we must attempt to make the dis- 
tinction clear. 

Sensation and Perception. — In the previous chapter we 
remarked upon the manner in which attention succeeds by 
dissociation in breaking up the conscious continuum of 
infancy into distinguishable portions. The infant conscious- 



SENSATION 119 

ness^ so far as concerns its cognitive features^ mnst be at the 
outset almost wholly a consciousness of the vague sensation 
kind^ a consciousness of undifferentiated fusions of sensory 
qualities^ plus pleasantness and unpleasantness^ which are 
here temporarily disregarded. Little by little^, through the 
discriminative and associative activities of attention^ these 
qualm?s" become disintegrated and attached to certain recur- 
rent experiences. A visual quality becomes in this fashion 
extradited^ and connected with a kingesthetic quality from 
the movement of the hand and arm. Presently in this proc- 
ess the visual consciousness loses its former disconnected 
vagueness^ and becomes an explicitly recognised sign^ or 
sjrnibol^ of the hand movement^ and^ perhaps^ of the further 
agreeable experiences connected with the allaying of hunger. 
In this way comes to pass the baby's consciousness of his bottle^ 
as an object external to himself. The process is evidently one 
which involves the extrusion, from a vague mass of sensory 
consciousness, of the several fusions of sensations concerned; 
and then, the further process of relating these sensory groups 
to one another. I^ow, so far as we ever approximate the ob- 
taining of a sense qualit}^, severed in all respects, save that of 
time, from the rest of our consciousness, so far do we tend to 
become aware merely of quality; but the moment the relating 
activity becomes vitally operative, at that moment do we tend 
to lose the experience as a mere quality, and begin to give it 
objective character. Speaking in an absolutely literal way, 
this relating activity is of course never wholly absent; and 
consequently, save for the hypothetical first moment of con- 
sciousness, we are never able to get a really pure sensation. 
Sensation is in this sense, therefore, an abstraction, as we 
have already insisted. But, speaking relatively, such illus- 
trations as those from which we started bring out the very 
striking differences in the degree to which we retain the pri- 
mary ability to cognise mere qualitj^, as distinguished from 
the tendenjcy to react upon the sensory stimulations as objects. 



120 PSYCHOLOGY 

James has hit off the pointy in one of his happy inspirations^, 
in saying that sensation gives us mere " acquaintance with 
objects/^ whereas perception gives ns ^^ knowledge about ^^ 
them. As a matter of f act^ it is clear that our sensory experi- 
ences which involve simply becoming acquainted with 
objects are few and far between. The all but universal re- 
action is one in which we place^ or classify^ or recognise^ the 
stimulus in some way^ thus relating it vitally to our past 
knowledge. It should be added^ too^ that this assignment of 
objective character to our sense experiences is especially 
prompt and convincing in those senses which most definitely 
contribute to our awareness of extension^ resistance, and ex- 
ternality to the organism, i, e,, touch and vision. 

Limitations of Sensation. — In general, we may say that 
the function of sensation is to furnish us with the elementary 
symbols of the various things in the world about us which 
stimulate our sensory-motor activities, e, g., odours, colours, 
sounds, etc. Moreover, it must not be forgotten that, despite 
the elaborations which it undergoes, this sensuous raw ma- 
terial continues throughout our lives to furnish the body, the 
content, of all our sensory consciousness; and as our minds 
pass from one sense element to another, the fact is, as we have 
already observed, reported by a sort of delicate shock, which 
is therefore a factor common to all sensation processes. So 
far as a mere simple symbol is all we need, so far we tend to 
rest content with the mere awareness of the sensory quality; 
but there are many kinds of things with which we must come 
into daily contact for which such symbols are inadequate, 
because they do not reflect with sufficient accuracy and detail 
the complexity of the object or stimulus. Consciousness of 
odours occasionally approximates the condition of sensation, 
by rendering us aware of specific qualities which relate them- 
selves only in the vaguest way to our past experience, and 
which we do not think of as objects. Such stimuli are for 
us essentially simple. But our visual consciousness of the 



SENSATION 121 

external world is always more or less complex; it always in- 
volves more or less of different colonrs^ each of which has its 
own qualities; and we must consequently become aware of a 
group of these sensory qualities experienced simultaneously. 
Such fusions of sensation elements^ with their wealth of sug- 
gested reactions and relations^ we think of as objects. 

Similarly^ if a very small point be brought in contact with 
the skin we feel what we call a sensation of touch ; and such 
a sensation^ if very lights may fail to suggest definitely any 
object whatsoever. But if a large area is stimulated by con- 
tact we instantly recognise such a complex of sensory qualities 
as being an oiject, whose nature we generally appreciate with 
some accuracy. The consciousness of relatively isolated 
simple qualities is^ accordingly^ when produced by stimulating 
the sense organ, what we mean by primary, or peripherally 
aroused, sensation. When the qualities cease to be simple, 
and take on definite relations to one another, and to us, 
especially that of externality, we have the consciousness of 
objects, which is commonly called perception. Clearly, then, 
sensation as the consciousness of isolated qualities is a prod- 
uct of mature abstraction. Sensation, as giving the qualita- 
tive determinant to all sensory experience, is not only the first 
stage in the perceptual process, furnishing the vague undif- 
ferentiated matrix out of which the richness of qualitative 
varietv is later extradited bv analvsis, but it is also the con- 
stant accompaniment of sensory activities, giving the stuff, the 
material, out of which perception is elaborated. To a fuller 
account of the perceptual stage in the cognitive function we 
must next proceed. 



CHAPTEE VI 
PEECEPTION 

Definition of Perception. — Perception has sometimes been 
defined as ^^the consciousness of particular material things 
present to sense/^ Perception is as a matter of fact always a 
larger thing than this definition would immediately imply; 
because we are always aware in the '^' fringe/^ in the back- 
ground of consciousness^, of .sense activities other than those 
we speak of as being perceived, especially those connected with 
the internal operations of our own organism. Perception as 
psychologists describe it, is therefore, like sensation, some- 
thing of an abstraction.* 

Our definition, however, marks off perception from sensa- 
tion in its emphasis upon the consciousness of objects^ or 
things. Sensation, as we saw in the last chapter, is more ap- 
propriately conceived as concerned with ^the consciousness of 
qualities. The two"^ processes liave this in common, that both 
are produced by the stimulation of a sense organ. This cir- 
cumstance serves to mark both of them off from such mental 
conditions as ihemory and imagination, in which our con- 
sciousness may equally well be engaged with objects. Never- 
theless, as we shall see more fully in later chapters, the sen- 

*It will be seen from this definition that the psychologist uses 
the term perception in a somewhat narrower sense than that recog- 
nised in ordinary usage. We speak in common parlance of per- 
ceiving the meaning of a theory, when we refer to our appreciation, 
or apprehension, of it. In such cases we may be engaged in 
reflection upon the theory, and our thought may thus be quite 
independent of any immediate stimulation of sense organs. 

122 



PERCEPTION 123 

suous material of perception and imagination and memory is 
qualitatively one and the same. Visual mental stuffy for 
example^ whether perceptually or ideationally produced^ is sui 
generis^ and totally unlike any other kind of mental stuffy 
such as auditory or olfactory. 

It will be seen that the distinction mentioned between the 
perceptual consciousness of objects and such consciousness of 
them as we may have in memory and imagination rests upon 
a physiological basis^ i, e,^ the presence or absence of sense 
organ activity. The only difference on the mental side is 
commonly to be found in the intensity and objectivity of the 
two. Perceptions are commonly more intense^ and feel more 
as though given to us^ than do our memories or imaginings. 
In hallucination^ howeyer^ it seems as though mere mental 
images assumed the vividness and externality of percepts ; and 
in the case 01 very faint stimulations^ e, g.^ of sound or colour^ 
we cannot always be confident whether we have really per- 
ceived somethiijg^ or merely imagined it. This principle of 
distinguishing the twols^ therefore^ not alwa}^s to be depended 
upon. Fortunately for our practical interests^ the distinction 
is generally valid and we do not often confuse what we reallj^ 
perceive, with what we imagine. 

We pointed out the fact in the last chapter that, save for 
the earliest experiences of infancy, sensation, as a total mental 
state distinguishable from perception, probably does not occur. 
The great masses of our sensory experiences are, accordingly, 
perceptions, and it obviously behooves us to examine them 
with care. 

Analysis of Perception. — We may evidently have percep- 
tions which originate from the stimulation of anj^ sense 
organ, and we might select an example from any sense de- 
partment for analysis. Because of their importance for every- 
day life we may, however, profitably •choose a case from 
visual perceptions for our examination. Let us take the in- 
stance of our perception of a chair. When our eyes fall upon 



124 PSYCHOLOGY 

such an object we instantly react to it as a single object. Al- 
though the chair has four legs and a seat, we do not see each 
of the legs as separate things, and then somehow pnt them 
together with the seat, and so mentally manufacture a chair 
for ourselves. On the contrary, our immediate response is 
the consciousness of a single object. We know of course that 
the chair possesses these various parts, just as we know that 
it has various colours, and in a sense we notice these features 
when we perceive it. But the striking thing is, that despite 
the great number of sensory nerves which are being stimulated 
by such an object, we perceive it, not as an aggregate of qual- 
ities a-\-l)-\-c, but as a unit^ a whole, which we can, if neces- 
sary, analyse into its parts. The same thing is true as to our 
perception of words. We naturally see them, not as so many 
separate letters, but as wholes, or at most as groups of sylla- 
bles; a fact which modern education wisely takes advan- 
tage of in teaching children to recognise entirer words at a 
glance. 

Evidently this is another phase of the fact v/hich we 
noted at the time we were studying attention, when we re- 
marked the selective and synthesising nature of attention 
in its operation upon sensory stimuli. We also came across 
the same fact in our description of the action of the cortex 
of the cerebrum. We observed there, that the cortex has its 
activity determined, "ni)w from this sensory source, and now 
from that, but the response is always of a unifying, synthe- 
sising character. This seems to be the reason, too, that our 
perceptions are so regularly definite, instead of vague, as they 
apparently might be. The cortical reaction tends toward the 
systematised orderly form. We note first, then, in our analy- 
sis of visual perception, that we commonly perceive objects 
as single and distinct, not as vague, confused, and aggregated 
compounds. 

If we describe for ourselves just what we perceive in such 
a case, we should add to our consciousness of the colour of the 



PERCEPTION 125 

chair our sense of its size and its shape. We say^ for 
example^ that the seat is square^, that it looks square. Now it 
requires only a moment^s reflection to convince us that^ as 
we stand at a little distance from the chair^ the image of its 
seat^ which is reflected upon the retina^ is not square at all^ 
but is a kind of rhomboid^ with two acute and two obtuse n 
angles. We become more clearh^ aware of this fact when we 
attempt to draw the chair as it appears. We are obliged 
under these conditions to draw just such a rhomboid as the 
seat presents to the eye. If we draw a real square on the 
paper, we cannot make it serve acceptably for a chair seat^ 
seen as we now see the chair of our illustration^ which is 
supposed to be at a little distance from us. 

Now^ how does it come about that we can perceive a rhom- 
boid as a square^ which is what we unquestionably do in this 
case ? The reply contains the secret of the fundamental fact 
about all perceptions. We see it as a square^, because we see 
it, not as it actually is to our vision at this moment^ but as 
our past experience has taught us it must be. Were it not for 
the influence of this past experience^ this habitual reaction 
upon objects like the present chair seat, undoubtedly we 
should not see it as square. The same thing is true as regards 
our perception of the height and size of the chair, and the 
material of its construction. Had we no previous experiences 
that resembled the present one, we should be hopelessly un- 
certain as to the element of size. To judge of this with any 
accuracy we must, to mention only a single circumstance, 
know with considerable exactness the distance of the chair 
from us; for the nearer an object is, the larger our visual 
image of it. Experience has taught us the common size of 
chairs and tables, and has taught us to allow correctly for the 
effects of distance, etc. We come at once, then, upon this 
striking fact, that in some manner or other perception in- 
volves a rudimentary reproductive process. Somehow, our 
former perceptions are taken up and incorporated into our 



126 PSYCHOLOGY 

present perceptions^ modifying them and moulding them into 
accord with the past. 

Moreover^ if we interrogate onr consciousness carefully, 
we shall find* that in visual perceptions we often^ perhaps gen- 
erally^ get an immediate impression of the contact values of 
the seen object. We get instantly something of the cool- 
smooth-feeling when we look upon highly polished marble. 
Velvet seen near at hand gives us similarly a feeling of soft- 
ness. It is not simply that we know the marble to be cool 
and smooth^ or the velvet to be soft. That would be merely a 
matter of associating certain ideas with the percept. We 
mean to designate a phase of the actual perceptual synthesis. 
Certain bizarre forms of a similar process^ known as synes- 
thesia^ illustrate the point. For example^ certain persons 
when they hear music alv/ays experience colour sensations 
accompanying it. We may regard it as certain, therefore, 
that sensory stimuli affecting only one sense organ may set 
up perceptual reactions involving directly more than one sen- 
sory area in the cortex, so that the percept resulting may be 
regarded as a coalescence of several different sense qualities. 

Auditory perceptions show just the same influence of ex- 
perience as do the visual perceptions which we have analysed. 
When we first hear a foreign language spoken, it is a mere 
babel of sounds. Presently, as we come to learn the lan- 
guage, the sounds become words with meanings intelligible to 
us, and our perception of what we hear thus manifests, as 
in the case of vision, unmistakable dependence upon our 
past experience. So also with touch. We learn that certain 
kinds of contact experiences mean door-knobs, or pencils, or 
books, etc. We might run through the whole list of sense 
organs and find the same thing true in varying degree. 

We may conclude then, that a second important factor in 
perceptual processes, in addition to the tendency to perceive 
objects as definite wholes, is the striking combination of the 
present with the past, of novelty with familarity. Were it 



PERCEPTION 127 

not for the fact that the perceived object connects itself in 
some way with our foregoing experience^ it would be entirely 
meaningless and strange to us. This is the way the words of 
an unknown language impress ns when we hear them. On 
the other hand^ the perceived thing is in some particulars dif- 
ferent from these previous experiences^ otherwise we could 
not distinguish the past from the present. Perception is^ 
then^ evidently a synthetic experience^ and the combination 
of the new and the old is the essential part of the synthesis. 
This process of combining the new and the old is often called 
apperception. In perception^ therefore^ the raw material 
supplied by the several senses is taken up into the psycho- 
physical organism^, and there^ under the process of appercep- 
tion^ given form and meaning by its vital and significant 
union with the old psychophysical activities. Material taken 
up in this way becomes as truly a part of the organism as 
does the food which enters the alimentary tract. 

Genesis of Perception. — It is evident from the facts we 
have examined in the immediately preceding paragraphs^ that 
the development of perception depends upon the degree to 
which our past experience enters into the results of each new 
sensory excitation. In the discussion of habit and of atten- 
tion^ we observed that attentian undoubtedly does make itself 
felt^ first in splitting up the undifferentiated, vague' con- 
tinuum of consciousness into parts; then in connecting these 
parts with one another; and finally in endowing the organism 
with habits whereby it may the more promptly and efficiently 
cope with the conditions it has to meet. Clearly, a fully 
developed perception is itself simply a kind of habit. That 
I should be able, when looking at a plane surface limited by 
four lines making two acute and two obtuse angles, to see a 
square table-top is only explicable by remarking that this 
perception has been acquired just as most other habits have 
been, i. e., slowly and by dint of many repetitions. 

So far as we can determine, experience begins to operate 



128 PSYCHOLOGY 

upon our sensory excitations at the very outset of lif e^ and the 
process of perception accordingly begins, but in a very rudi- 
mentary manner, immediately after the hypothetical " first 
moment ^^ of sensation which we described in the previous 
chapter. Nevertheless, we must suppose that for many weeks 
the perceptual process is on a very low level of advancement. 
In the first place, as we pointed out, a perception involves our 
having some knowledge, however simple, about the object. But 
such knowledge about objects depends upon our ability to con- 
nect various sensory experiences with the same object, and 
this in turn depends largely upon our ability to control our 
movements. We mentioned in an earlier chapter that such 
control is a relatively late acquirement, and accordingly our 
perceptual processes get no available opportunity for develop- 
ment in early infancy. An illustration will make this clearer. 
Let us take the possible course of events involved in a 
baby^s acquiring the perception of a bell. Obviously the 
visual factors involved cannot be satisfactorily employed, until 
some control has been attained over the eye miuscles, so that 
the child's eyes are able to converge and follow an object. 
This attainment is commonly achieved about the third or 
fourth week of life, although there is great variation here. 
If the child never touched the bell and never heard it, he 
might still learn to recognise it when he saw it, as something 
he had seen before ; but he evidently would have no such per- 
ception of it as you and I have. As a matter of fact, the 
bell will be put into his hand, and during the random move- 
ments of the hand his eye will sometimes fall upon it. The 
occasional repetition of this experience will soon serve to fix 
the association of the touch-hand-movement feelings with 
the visual consciousness of the bell, so that the thing seen 
will inevitably suggest the thing felt and moved, and vice 
versa. Moreover, all the time this has been going on there 
have been sensory stimulations of sound from the bell. 
This group of elements, therefore, becomes annexed to the 



PERCEPTION 129 

rest of the group, and straightway we have the rudiments of 
the process by which, when we see or touch or hear a certain 
kind of object, we promptly perceive it as a bell, i, e., as a 
something to which a certain total mass of familiar experi- 
ence belongs. 

Such a case as this is typical, and despite certain omissions 
of detail, may serve to represent the kind of activities which 
always accompany the acquiring of perceptions. It will be 
remembered that we connected the perceptual process with 
the establishment of relations. In the case which we have 
used for our illustration these relations show clearly in the 
connecting of one group of sensory experiences with another. 
The auditory group comes to mean the eye group, and both 
of these come to mean the hand-movement group. Moreover, 
the definite establishment of these relations is practically 
dependent upon the motor factors by which the hand and 
eye come to control the object. When such relations as these 
are once set up, we have a definite perception of an object 
about which we know something, i. e., that it is an object 
from which we can get certain kinds of familiar experiences. 

It will be seen at once that in this series of events by which 
the perception becomes definite, the several steps involved are 
brought about on the strictly mental side by the action of 
attention, which we have previously sketched. First, there is 
the dissociative process, throwing out into the foreground of 
consciousness the visual characteristics of the bell, as dis- 
tinguished from other things in the visual field. This is 
followed by the associative, or relating process, which connects 
this visual bell with the auditory and tactual-motor experi- 
ences. It remains, then, to inquire what further development 
takes place after the accomplishment of this synthesis of the 
different sensory activities of sounr\ sight, and touch into the 
consciousness of a single object. 

Development of Perception. — We spoke of fully developed 
perceptions a moment ago as habits. If this metaphor were en- 



I30 PSYCHOLOGY 

tirely appropriate^ it might seem that perceptions would come 
to a certain point of development and then stop. Clearly, our 
reference to habit was in one particular misleading. Our most 
perfect habits are all but unconscious. A perception, on the 
other hand, is distinctly a conscious process. The truth of our 
statement lies in this fact, i, e., that just in the degree in which 
our necessities permit us to perceive and react upon objects in 
literally the same manner, time after time, do we tend to 
become unconscious of them and to react to them in accord- 
ance with the principle of mere habit. We thus become 
almost wholly oblivious to the exact appearance of a door- 
knob which we have occasion to turn very often. Our eyes 
may rest upon it momentarily, but only long enough to guide 
the hand in its movement, and often without registering any 
visual impression of which we could immediately afterward 
give an exact account. There are also certain features of 
the neural process in perception which ^ Warrant our com- 
parison with habit, and to these we shall come in a moment. 
The great mass of our perceptions, however, are of objects 
whose relations to us change sufficiently from time to tim^e 
to make any complete subsidence of our consciousness of them 
incompatible with their effective manipulation; consequently 
we continue to be definitely aware of them. 

The development of perception, which goes on in a certain 
sense more or less all our lives, and in a very definite sense 
up to the period of mental maturity, is plainly not a develop- 
ment involving simply a more automatic response to objects. 
Quite the contrary. The process which we commonly think 
of as growth in the powers of perception consists in the 
further elaboration of the discriminative and associative ac- 
tivities of attention. We learn to see new things in the old 
objects, new charactertistics, which before escaped our know- 
ledge. We also learn more about the objects, and thus, when 
we perceive them, perceive them in a modified and more in- 
telligent way. Speaking literally, it therefore appears that 



PERCEPTION 131 

development in perception really involves perceiving new 
objects in the old. 

A moment^s reflection will show the similarity of this fact 
to one which we noted when analysing attention^ i, e.^ that to 
continue our attention to an object for more than a moment 
we must notice something new about it, see it in a new way. 
We might of course substitute the word perception for the 
word attention, inasmuch as attention is an attribute of all 
consciousness, and then the proposition would read: we can- 
not continue to perceive an object beyond a moment or two, 
unless we perceive it in a new manner. Perceptions which 
we do not execute in a new way we have already seen do 
actually tend to lapse from consciousness, passing over into 
habits of response which we make to certain physical stimuli. 

When a child is taught to observe the arrangement of the 
petals in a flower, he thenceforth perceives the flower in a new 
way. To him it really is, a new object. All development in 
perception is of this kind, and constitutes a sort of trans- 
formation b)^ the unfolding of the old object into the new 
and richer one. The larger part of this perceptual develop- 
ment occurs during childhood and adolescence. Neverthe- 
less, there is a continuation of the process in an inconspicuous 
way far into old age. Thus, we come in childhood to recog- 
nise the salient characteristics of the common things about us 
in every day life. During adolescence we enrich this material 
by observing more accurately the details of these things, and 
by increasing our knowledge of their general purport and 
relations. After attaining maturity our further advance is 
alm-ost wholly connected with the affairs of our professional, 
or business, life. The musician becomes more sensitive to the 
niceties of harmonic accord and the nuances of melodic 
sequence. The business man becomes more observant of the 
things which pass under his eye, so far as they are related to 
his specialtj^ The elementary school teacher learns how to 
keep the corner of her eye sensitive to iniquity upon the back 



132 PSYCHOLOGY 

seat while apparently absorbed in listening to the recitation 
of virtue npon the front bench. The mother learns to watch 
her children with an increasingly intelligent discrimination 
between acts which indicate illness and those which indicate 
fatigue^ excitement^ and transitory irritation. Everywhere 
development is primarily shown by fresh skill in the detec- 
tion of new features in old things. 

Illusions. — Certain instances of illusion furnish a striking 
conjS.rmation of the general ide^of perception which we have 
been explaining. An illusion is a f alse^ or erroneous^ percep- 
tion^ which is often spoken of as a deception of the senses. But 
this is misleading, as we shall presently see, for the senses 
ordinarily operate properly enough. The difficulty is with 
our reaction upon the sensory material furnished to us. 
Among the most frequent of such illusions is the misreading 
of printed words. We sometimes read the words put before 
us as we have reason to suppose they ought to be, not as they 
are. Thus, if we come across the word mispirnt, many of us 
will read it in all good faith as misprint and never see the 
difference. We react to the general visual impression and its 
suggestion, and see what really is not before us. If the 
sentence in which the word occurs is such as to give us a 
definite anticipation of the word, the probability of our over- 
looking the typographical error is much increased. Similarly 
when we come into a darkened room where sits a spectral 
form — an experience which as children most of us have had — 
we see a person with startling clearness; and the subsequent 
discovery, that the supposed person consists of clothing hang- 
ing upon a chair, is hard to accept as true. Illusions of 
sound are very common. We fancy we hear our names called, 
when in point of fact the sound we thus interpret may have 
been anything from a summons to some other person of simi- 
lar name, to the barking of a dog, or the whistle of a locomo- 
tive. Tactual illusions are also easy to produce. The so- 
called "illusion of Aristotle ^^ is a good specimen. (Figure 




PERCEPTION 133 

50.) Children often achieve it bj' crossing the first and 
second fingers, and then moving to and fro upon the bridge 
of the nose with the crotch thus formed between the fingers. 
Presently one becomes distress- 
ingly impressed with the fact 
that one possesses two noses. 

This last instance is typi- 
cal of many ilkisions, in that 
it is caused by stimulating 
with a single object the sides 
of the two fingers which are ^^* 

not ordinarilv in contact with one another, and for the 
stimulation of which, accordingly, two objects are com- 
monly necessary. We react in the familiar, the habit- 
ual, way to the simultaneous stimulation of these areas of 
the skin. This has invariably been accomplished hitherto 
by the pressure of two objects, and two objects we 
therefore feel. It is clear that in such a case the sense organ 
is in no way at fault. It sends in the impulses communi- 
cated to it just as it has alwa5^s done before; but the reaction 
which we make upon the impression also follows the usual 
course, and in this special case happens consequently to be 
wrong. The same explanation applies to our reading of 
incorrectly spelled words. Many illusions of movement, e, g., 
such as we obtain in railroad trains, are of this character. 
The same general principle holds, but applied in a slightly 
different manner, when we see, or hear, or otherwise perceiv-e, 
some object not actually present, because we are expecting 
to perceive it. Thus, if we are listening for expected foot- 
steps, we find ourselves time after time interpreting other 
sounds as those of the awaited step. At night the nervous 
housewife wakens to hear the burglars passing from room to 
room along the corridor. Step follows step in stealthy but 
unmistakable rhythm, though the whole impression has no 
other objective basis than the occasional cracking of floors 



134 PSYCHOLOGY 

and partitions^ phenomena v/hich are the constant accom- 
paniments of changing temperature. There are many kinds 
of illusions, be it said, which do not come immediately under 
the headings we have discussed. For example^ such illusions 
as that in figure 51 are much too complex in their basis to 
be properly included, without modification, under the ex- 
planatory rubrics we have considered. 

It is clear that a consideration of illusion affords new and 
striking confirmation of the part played in perception by 
previous experience. The cortical reaction suggested by the 






Fig. 51. Despite their contrary appearance, the two horizontal 
lines will be found of equal length. 

stimulus does not happen to correspond to the object actually 
present. But this cortical reaction is evidently determined 
by the impress of old perceptual experiences whose traces 
have been preserved. The same point is admirably illus- 
trated by such drawings as the accompanying, figures 52 
and 53. We can see the stairs, either as they appear from 
above, or from below. In one case the surface a seems nearer 
to us; in the other case 6 seems nearer. We can see in the 
other figure a big picture frame, the frustrum of a pyramid, 
or the entrance to a square tunnel. Yet one and the same 
object is presented to the retina in each case. The eye can 



PERCEPTION 



135 




Fig. 52. 



hardly be accused of responsibility for the shifting results. 
But lines like these have actually been connected in our for- 
mer perceptions with the 
several objects named;, 
and in consequence the 
cortical reaction appro- 
priate to either of them 
may be called out. It 
would seem abundantly 
certain^ therefore^ that 
while a portion of what 
we perceive is always supplied from without^ another portion^ 
and often the dominant portion^ is supplied from within 
ourselves. 

Hallucination. — In distinction from illusion^ which is es- 
sentially perception^ {%. e., a consciousness of particular 
material things present to sense — though other things than 
those really perceived happen to be present) ;, hallucination 
is the name given to the consciousness of objects felt to be 
physically present^ when as a matter of fact no object of any 
kind is at hand. Illusions are every day experiences familiar 
to all of us. Hallucinations^ while by no means infrequent^ 
are much less common and con- 
sequently more difficult to de- 
scribe satisfactorily. Many of the 
alleged telepathic phenomena in- 
volve hallucinations. Thus^ for in- 
stance^ one is sitting alone in a 
room and suddenly sees another 
person^ known to be thousands of 
miles distant^ come in and sit down. 
Again^ when alone in the same 
way^ one suddenly hears some sen- 
tence clearly spoken. In neither case^ needless to say^ is any- 
one actually present^ save the owner of the hallucination; and 




Fig. 53. 



136 PSYCHOLOGY 

there are no obvious external phenomena which conlcl be held 
accountable for the experience. All the senses seem to be 
represented from time to time in the hallucinatory perceptions^ 
although hearing and vision are^ perhaps^ the ones most fre- 
quently involved. 

An interesting distinction has been made between true 
hallucination and what is called pseudo-hallucination. In 
the first case the perceived object not only seems external 
and real, but there is in the mind of the person experiencing 
the hallucination no suspicion at the time that the object 
seen^ or heard^ is not actually real and present. In the 
second form there is a sort of background consciousness^ such 
as we sometimes note in dreams^ which assures the victim 
that the phenomenon is after all imaginary and unreal^ 
despite its genuinely objective appearance. 

It has been suggested that hallucinations are really ex- 
treme forms of illusions^ extreme cases of misinterpretatiqn 
of sensory stimuli/ resting upon highly disintegrated cortical 
forms of reaction. The sensory source of the stimulation 
has been sought at times in pathological conditions of the 
sense organs^ e. g.^ congestion of circulation in the eye^ or 
ear, etc. 

There are many facts which tend to confirm this view, which 
is ad"stocated by certain of the most competent judges; and 
some others which are very difficult of reconciliation with it. 
A discussion of the point at issue would take u.s too far afield 
for present purposes, and readers who are interested in such 
matters must consult some of the more extended and special- 
ised treatises. Meantime, we must admit that unless this 
last suggestion is correct, hallucination furnishes an excep- 
tion to the general rule that cortically initiated conscious 
processes are less vivid and less definitely externalised than 
those which originate in sense organs. If hallucination is 
not peripherally initiated, it belongs to the group of phe- 
nomena which we shall examine in the chapter upon imagina- 



\ 



PERCEPTION 137 

tion^ and we may defer further discussion of it until we 
reach that point. 

Neural Process in Perception. — The nervous pathways in- 
volved in perception are probabl}^ identical with those which 
we have described in connection with sensation processes. 
In vision^ for example^ the occipital regions in the cortex are 
unquestionably employed^ in cases of auditory perception the 
temporal region is active^ etc. But there is this highly im- 
portant fact to be taken more explicitly into account^ i, e., 
that in perception the cortical activity^ which is in part 
decided by the Mnd of neural stimulus sent into it^ is in large 
measure determined by the modifications which previous ex- 
periences have impressed upon the structure of the hemi- 
spheres. Evidently this is but a statement in physiological 
terms of the doctrine which we have alreadj^ enunciated in 
psychological form. As w^e observed in our discussion of 
habit^ every nervous current which passes through the cen- 
tral system seems to leave its impress behind it^ and this 
impress modifies the nature of the neural excitations which 
follow it. The case of perception is^ accordingly^ only a 
special instance of this general principle^, albeit a peculiarly 
important and conspicuous one. It is on this account^ L e.^ 
because of the fundamental importance of the accumulating 
modifications of the cortex, that we compared perception, 
earlier in the chapter, to the^ case of habit. From tRe side 
of neural action, therefore, perception cannot be referred 
simply to the emplo}mient of a certain pathway throughout 
the sensory-motor tracts; it must be referred to a certain 
Tcind of action, in which the result in consciousness appears 
to be a product of two neural factors — sensory stimulus into 
cortex modified by previous experience. 

General Function of Perception.— In order to give percep- 
tual processes their proper setting among the psychophysical 
activities of adjustment, we must revert once again to our 
notion of the sensory-motor circuit. We have already ob- 



138 PSYCHOLOGY 

served that in this device the sense organs represent so mam^ 
telephonic receivers ready to transmit inward messages from 
the external world to the organism. We have also described 
in a general way the method by which certain kinds of motor 
reactions to these sensory stimulations are brought to pass. 
But in the higher brain centres the pathways connecting 
sense organs with muscles are often extremely complex^ and 
a stimulus transmitted inward by the afferent nerves may 
lead to innumerable intermediary brain activities before it 
issues again in movements of the voluntary muscles. Now 
perception is the conscious concomitant of certain of these 
brain processes. Memory^ imagination^ reasoning, etc.^ are 
others. Bearing these facts in mind^ and observing closely 
what actually occurs when we are engaged in perceiving ob- 
jects^ we readily detect the main function of perception. 

Perception represents the direct^, organised^ and system- 
atised internal reaction of the individual upon his environ- 
ment. The process is sometimes called presentation^ and this 
is a good name for it. In it the world is presented as a sys- 
tem of relations — not merely reflected as a disorganised mass 
of atoms and molecules^ but constructed by the various activi- 
ties of attention into definite objects. If sensation is prop- 
erly described^ after a common fashion^ as the process in 
which the mind and the world of matter first come together^ 
perception may be described as the point in which the past 
and the present come together for the creation of a new 
object. The perceived thing is not simply the physically 
present vibrations of atoms and molecules which we call 
lights or sounds or what not; it is these vibrations, as they 
are interpreted by a psychophysical organism which exposes 
to them a nervous system already affected by past experiences, 
that enable it to get only certain specific kinds of results 
from the present synthesis. Evidently we make far more 
constant use of our past experience than common-sense ob- 
servation would lead us to suppose. It is not only when we 



PERCEPTION 139 

reflect upon our past life that vre shape our action in accord- 
ance with its instructions and admonitions; every time we 
open our ej^es to see^ or our ears to hear^ what we can see and 
hear is in a true sense and in large measure determined for 
us by what we have previously learned to see and hear. It 
is a moralistic truism that only the good can really love and 
appreciate virtue. But this principle is not simply^ nor 
primarily^ a moral tenet. It is based on irrefutable and 
unavoidable psychological foundations. It states a law of 
the mind which we might wish at times to change^ but can- 
not. We can only perceive those things which our experi- 
ence allows us to perceive. The things may be there before 
us in all their beauty and purity. But we cannot see them 
if our minds have been wholly unschooled in such percep- 
tions. The first and basic function of perception^ then^ is 
to afford us our primary knowledge of a world of objects 
amid which we have to live. It is the first actual^ definite^ 
and complete step in the process of knowledge whose further 
and more complex features we have next to examine. 

The second great function of perception grows out of the 
first. Indeed, it might be regarded as in a measure simply 
a corrolary of the first. All the sensory and afferent proc- 
esses have their ultimate value, as we saw must be the case 
in Chapter II., because of the more efiicient movements of 
adjustment to which they lead. Perception is no exception 
to this rule, l^ow in order that sensory stimulations may 
not lead at once to motor responses, but may be interpreted 
and correlated with other sensory impulses, it is evidently 
necessary that there should be some provision for halting 
them momentarily, and identifying them, when they come 
again and again. Perception is the process by which this 
identification is made possible; and so it comes to pass 
that perception is the first, both logically and genetically, 
of the conscious operations by which the life of control is 
inaugurated. 



HO PSYCHOLOGY 

We nave repeatedly seen that perception involves immedi- 
ately within itself the effects of antecedent experience^ and a 
secondary result of this complication with memory processes 
is that when we perceive an object which is in any way 
familiar we instantly recognise it. If the object thus recog- 
nised be one about which our previous experience is unam- 
biguous^ we respond almost instantly with appropriate 
movements — those of aversion^ if it be repulsive or harmful^ 
those of approbation^ when the contrary sentiments are 
aroused. If the object have no such definite antecedent 
reactions connected with it^ we straightway fall to deliber- 
ating as to our course of action; or if the impression be 
wholly fleeting^ we pass to some more stim^ulating enticement. 

Perception is thus the gateway through which the mass 
of sensory excitations (save those already grown purely 
habitual) must pass before they can. be permitted to set up 
motor responses of the volitional kind. Often the perceptual 
activity is sufficient to decide this volition. The clock strikes 
and we rise to leave the room. When mere perception is not 
felt to be adequate to the case^ the matter is handed over to 
refiective deliberation. In either events voluntary response is 
safeguarded. The formation of the elements of the process 
of knowledge and the inauguration of the control' over move- 
ments in accordance with the mandates of experience — these 
are the two great functions of perception. This statement 
applies without modification to the special phases of percep- 
tion^ to which we shall next advert. 



CHAPTEE VII 

PEECEPTION OF SPATIAL A^B TEMPOEAL 

EELATIOJSrS 

I. SPACE 

The objects which we have mentioned in our analysis of 
sensory consciousness are all objects perceived by us as 
parts of a spatial and temporal oijder; and it is evident that 
our account of them would be extremely defective if we 
altogether omitted a study of these time and space relations. 
We shall consider space first. 

Two Fundamental Problems, — Psychologists are divided 
in opinion upon two fundamental problems concerning our 
space perceptions. It is maintained in the first place by 
some of them^ the nativists^ that space perception is pri- 
marily an innate hereditary attainment possessed by us in 
a rude form prior to^ and independent of, all experience. 
Others, the empiricists, maintain that spatial judgments are 
as much the results of experience, are as truly acquired, as 
piano playing or the^ liking for caviar. We shall not discuss 
the question, for this^ would require more time than we can 
give it. But we;may register the dogmatic opinion that both 
parties to the controversy are in a measure correct. W^e hold 
that the crude, vague feeling of extension, of volume, is a 
genuinely innate experience, unlike any other experience, 
and underived by mere experience from non-spatial psychical 
elements. So far we are nativists. On the other hand, we 
are confident that all accurate knowledge of the meaning of 
the space relations in our space world, all practically precise 

141 




142 PSYCHOLOGY 

perception of direction^ position^ contour^ size^ etc.^ is a re- 
sult of experience^ and could never be gained without it. So 
far we are empiricists^ holding to a genetic point of view 
regarding the development of our adult space consciousness. 
The analyses and discussions which follow will serve to fur- 
nish some of the evidence upon which this view rests. 

Sensory Basis of Spatial Perception. — The second main 
point upon which psychologists are unable to agree concerns 
the sensory sources from which we gain our spatial judg- 
ments^ a matter to which we made cursory reference in Chap- 
ter V. The majority of psychologists maintain that vision 
and touch are the only real avenues of spatial perception; 
whereas certain others^ like James^ boldly maintain that all 
forms of sensory consciousness are "^ voluminous/^ — ^smell and 
taste and audition^ as well as sight and touch. The doctrine 
maintained in this book is that all forms of sensations are 
immediately suggestive of spatial attributes^ e, g.^ position^ 
size^ distance^ etc. ; but that only sight and touch possess in- 
trinsically and completely the full spatial characteristics. 
We include in touchy when thus mentioned^ all the cutaneous 
sensations and the motor^ or kinsesthetic^ sensations. As a 
matter of fact^ however^ the temperature and pain sensations, 
considered apart from pressure and sensations of movement, 
are ordinarily negligible elements. When involved in con- 
junction with pressure, they often modify our perceptions 
materially. 

Doubtful Cases. — Taste and smell and hearing are really 
the debatable sensations. Taste we throw out of court at 
once, because taste stimuli practically involve invariably the 
stimulation of cutaneous sensations of contact and tempera- 
ture. We cannot, therefore, submit the matter to unam- 
biguous introspective analysis. Smells we undoubtedly 
- classify at times in ways suggesting spatial attributes. The 
smell of illuminating gas seems somehow a more massive, 
extensive sort of thing than the odour of lemon peel. But if 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 143 

one lessens the disparity in the intensity of the two odours^ by 
getting just the merest whiff of the gas and inhaling freely 
and deeply of the lemon odour, the spatial difference between 
the two begins to evaporate. There can be no question but 
that we tend to think of the more intense and more widely 
diffused odour as the larger. Nor is this remarkable, since 
we find it actually occupying more of the atmospheric space 
about us. But when we note that with mild intensities of 
odours their spatial suggestiveness wanes; when we further 
note that we have no definite impressions of size, much less 
of shape, under any conditions; and finally when we remark 
that even our ability to localise odours is extremely imperfect, 
we may well question whether smell has itself any properly 
space quality. 

The case of auditory space is similar to that of smell. We 
are told, for instance, that the tones of the lowest organ 
pipes are far larger, far more voluminous, than those of the 
high shrill pipes. A base drum sounds bigger than a penny- 
whistle, a lion's roar than the squeaking of a mouse, etc. 
Such illustrations, when adduced as evidence of the spatial 
character of sounds, evidently contain three possible sources 
of error. In the first place, we often know something about 
the causes of these sounds, and we tend to transfer the known 
size of the producing object to the supposed size of the sound. 
Secondly, and of far more consequence, sounds affect other 
organs than those of the internal ear, especially when they 
are loud or of deep pitch. Powerful tones thus jar the whole 
body, and are felt all over. Moreover, vibrations of the drum 
membrane of the middle-ear undoubtedly set up crude sensa- 
tions of pressure, or strain, to which we may come to attach 
a spatial significance associated with the sound. Add to this, 
thirdly, the fact that we readily convert judgments based 
upon the intensity of sounds into judgments about their 
extensity, just as in the case of smell, and one has a large 
mass of considerations leading to scepticism concerning the 

^^ 



144 PSYCHOLOGY 

genuineness of intrinsic auditory space relations. Of course^ 
no one doubts that we localise sounds^ and of the factors in- 
volved in this process we shall have more to say presently. 
But the fact that certain sounds are located within the head 
{e, g.y when two telephone receivers are placed against the ears 
and an induction shock sent through them) has been cited to 
prove the native possession of a true auditory space ; for here 
apparently experience from the other senses^ such as vision^ 
would give no direct assistance. But these cases are certainly 
capable of explanation by means of the intra-cranial sensa- 
tions set up in pressure nerves by bone vibrations^ and by the 
effect of the imagination^ visual and otherwise. Taken alone^ 
such evidence could hardly be conclusive. If we come back^ 
then^ to ordinary introspection^ we find that all which the most 
ardent partisans of an auditory space can claim is a much 
emaciated form of the visual and tactual article. A vague 
sense of volume^ or mass^ much vaguer even than that given 
by mere temperature^ with some crude sense of position^ 
would seem to be the utmost capacity. Any sense of contour 
or shape or exact size, any ability to measure, is lacking. 
Clearly such a space, even if genuine, which we doubt, would 
ill deserve to be ranked beside the space of sight and touch. 
The manner in which we localise sound may best be described 
after we have analysed visual' and tactual space. 

Growth of Space Perception. — Our adult cognition of 
space relations is generally so immediate and unreflective, the 
feeling for space values so compelling and seemingly inevit- 
able, that we find it difficult to believe that these reactions 
are the results of a slow process of growth and learning. 
Nevertheless, this is unquestionably the fact. Babies evi- 
dently have no precise perceptions of space until they have 
acquired a considerable degree of motor control; and even 
then their appreciation of large expanses and distances is 
often ludicrously inexact. The child reaching in good faith 
for the moon is the stock illustration of this sort of thing. 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 145 

That we have no precise appreciation of visual space relations 
until experience has brought it to ns is abundantly proven by 
the cases of persons born blind and successfully operated upon 
for the restoration of sight. Immediately after the operation 
such persons are almost wholly at a loss for impressions of 
sizC;, shapC;, or distance. After the hands have explored the 
objects seen, and the eyes have been allowed to pass freely to 
and fro over them, these spatial impressions gradually begin 
to emerge and take on definiteness. By the use of properly 
arranged lenses and prisms experiments of various kinds have 
been made on normal persons, showing that we can speedily 
accommodate ourselves to the most unusual inversions and 
distortions of our visual space. We can thus learn to react 
properly, although all the objects, as we see them, are upside 
down and turned about as regards their right and left rela- 
tions. The new relations soon come to have the natural feel- 
ing of ordinary perceptions. 

These observations show very strikingly that there is noth- 
ing rigidly fixed and innate about the form of our space 
perceiving; that it is a function of experience and can be 
changed by changing the conditions of the experience. 
Moreover, it is easy to demonstrate that the space relations, 
as we perceive them by different senses, are far from homo- 
geneous. Indeed, the impressions which we gain from the 
same sense are often far from being in agreement. Never- 
theless, we feel our space relations to be objectively homo- 
geneous, a result which could hardly come about under such 
circumstances of sensory disparity without the harmonising 
effects of experience. To illustrate — the edge of a card 
pressed gently upon the forearm will feel to the skin shorter 
than it looks. The same card, if the finger tip is allowed to 
run slowh' along it, will feel longer than it looks. The dis- 
appointing disparity between the cavity of a tooth, as ii: 
feels to the tongue and appears to the eye, or feels to the 
finger-tip, is a notorious instance of the same thing. The 



146 PSYCHOLOGY 

tongue and the finger-tip both give ns pressure sensations. 
Yet they give a very different report of the same object. 
Similarly^ objects seen upon the periphery of the retina ap- 
pear smaller than when seen by the fovea; and often they 
undergo a certain distortion in form. That we should per- 
ceive^ amid all these possible sources of confusion^ a fairly 
stable and well-ordered space world betokens unmistakably 
the systematising effects of experience^ controlled no doubt 
by the exigencies of our practical interests in effective 
orientation. 

Part Played by Movement. — Even though we recognise the 
fact that experience brings order and precision and effective- 
ness into our space perceptions^, the general manner by 
which these results are achieved is not yet clear; much less 
what factors are chiefly employed in their attainment. It 
requires only the most cursory examination to convince one- 
self that the all-important element in the building up and 
correlating with one another of our various spatial sensa- 
tions is movement. In acquiring accurate touch perceptions^ 
for instance^ the finger-tips and hands move over the object^ 
^ ^ grasp it now in this way and now in that, until a complex 
set of tactual impressions has been gained from it. Without 
such movement our touch perceptions are vague in the ex- 
treme. If we close our eyes and allow another person to put 
a series of small objects upon our outstretched hands we 
receive only the m.ost indefinite impressions of form and size 
and texture. But allow us to manipulate the same objects 
in our fingers, and we can give a highly accurate account of 
them. Similarly, if we wish to compare visually the magni- 
tude and contours of two objects we must allow our eyes to 
move freely from one to the other. Indeed, reflection must 
assure us that the vital meaning of all space relations is 
simply a given amount and direction of movement. To pass 
toward the right means to make a certain kind of movement; 
to pass upward means to make another kind^ etc. To be 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 147 

sure^ we assign arbitrary measures to these relations^ and we 
say an object is a mile away^ or is a foot thick and six inches 
high. But the meaning to us of the mile^ the foot^ and the 
inch must always remain ultimately expressible in movement. 

Were it possible to get at the exact stages in the process 
by which the child acquires its control over space relations^ ^ 
we should thus secure the most penetrating possible insight 
into our adult space perceptions. But as this is at present 
impracticable^ we must content ourselves with an analysis of 
the factors which seem clearly involved in these adult con- 
ditions, without regard to their genetic features. 

Touch and Vision. — It is certain that touch and vision 
practically cooperate from the beginning, and we shall 
isolate them from one another only to point out their 
respective peculiarities, and not because their operation 
is independent. (The most important, and for practical pur- 
poses the most accurate, part of our touch perceptions comes 
from the hands and finger-tips.) By moving the hands over 
the various parts of the body we come to have a fairly ac- 
curate notion of their touch characteristics in terms of the 
hand as a standard. Moreover, each hand touches the other, 
and we thus get a kind of check from touch on the tactual 
standard itself. Generally speaking, when two parts of our 
body touch each other we feel the one which is quiet with the 
one which is moving. Thus, if we stroke the forehead with 
the fingers we feel the forehead; but if we hold the hand 
steady and move the head, we feel the fingers. I^ow in order 
that we should be able to learn in these ways that a certain 
amount of sensation in the finger-tips means a certain area 
on the forehead, and, much more, that we should be able to 
tell with so much accuracy when we are touched what part 
of the body the sensation comes from, seems to depend upon 
what Lotze calls the ^^ local sign.^^ 

Local Signs. — If one is touched upon the palm and upon 
the back of the hand, one obtains from both stimulations / j^ 



148 PSYCHOLOGY 

sensations of pressure; but however much alike they may be 
as regards duration^ intensity^ and extensity, we promptly 
feel a difference in them^ which leads us to refer each to its 
appropriate region. ISTow this something about touch sensa- 
tions which permits us to recognise them as locally distinct;, 
although we recognise all of them as being cases of contact, is 
what is meant by the local sign. These local signs, then, are 
the relatively fixed elements in our space-perceiving proc- 
esses. It is by learning to correlate one group of them with 
another group that we can develop by experience the ac- 
curacy of our perceptions. Thus, for example, we come to 
learn that the stimulation of one series of local signs in the 
order a-h-c means a special movement of one hand over the 
other, say the downward movement of the right hand over 
the left. The same series stimulated in the order c-b-a 
means the reverse movement. ( It must be remembered very 
explicitly at this point that we are including the kinaesthetic 
sensations of movement under the general heading of touch : 
since we doubtless have local signs of movement distinct 
from those of the cutaneous pressure sense, and they doubt- 
less play a very important part here. , But they are com- 
monly fused in an inextricable way with the pressure sensa- 
tions, so that a separate treatment of them seems hardly 
necessary in a sketch of this kind. 

A Caution. — A warning must be held out at this point 
against the fallacy of supposing that in learning his space 
world a child uses these local signs in any very reflective 
way. He does not say to himself : " That movement of 
localisation was inaccurate because I used the wrong local 
sign to control it.'^ He generally employs the " try, try 
again method,^^ until he hits the mark. But his success 
carries with it a recollection of the total feeling of the suc- 
cessful experience, and in this total feeling the local sign 
element is an indispensable part, even though the child is not 
himself definitely cognisant of the fact. 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 149 

The simultaneous stimulation of a group of these local 
signs gives us the extensity feeling of touchy and when the 
impressions come from three-dimensional objects we get^ 
through our motor reactions upon them^ experiences of 
change of motion in three cardinal directions. This seems 
to be the basis of our tactual tridimensionality. 

Delicacy of Touch. — In normal persons touch falls far be- 
hind vision in its spatial nicety of function^ and far behind 
its possible capacities, as is shown by the astonishing accuracy 
of blind persons, who do not, however, seem to be notably 
more accurate than seeing persons as regards the parts of the 
•body which are not used for tactual exploration, e, g., the 
forearms and the back. But despite its lesser delicacy, touch- 
movement undoubtedly plays an important role during child- 
hood in furnishing interpretative checks upon our visual 
estimates of large areas and great distances. The visual per- 
ception of a mile, for instance, gets a practical meaning for 
us largely through our walking over the distance. More- 
over, although vision so largely displaces touch in our actual 
spatial judgments, touch always retains a sort of refereeship. 
When we doubt the accuracy of our visual perceptions we are 
likely, whenever possible, to refer the case to touch, and the 
verdict of this sense we commonly accept uncritically. 

Peculiarities of Vision. — Vision resembles the non-spatial 
senses of smell and hearing in one particular which marks 
it off characteristicallv from touch. Touch sensations we 
commonly refer to the surface of the body itself, although 
when we tap with a cane, or a pencil, we seem to have a 
curious kind of projection of part of our sensations out to the 
farther tip of the object. Visual objects we always place out- 
side ourselves. Even our after-images gotten with closed eyes 
often seem to float in a space vaguely external to ourselves. 

It seems necessary to assume a system of local signs for 
vision, comparable to those of touch-movement, although 
doubtless more complex. It must be admitted, however, that 



ISO PSYCHOLOGY 

introspection is much more uncertain in its deliverances here^, 
than in the case of touchy and we shall be on somewhat spec- 
ulative ground in assuming the nature of this visual local 
signature. It seems probable that this attribute of sensa- 
tions from the periphery of the retina consists primarily in 
reflex impulses^ or tendencies^ to movement toward the fovea^ 
the fovea itself furnishing a peculiar feeling which serves 
more or less as a fixed point of reference. Certain it is that 
stimulation of any part of the retina tends to release move- 
ments turning the fovea toward the stimulus. The incessant 
and complicated movements of the eyes over the visual field 
must speedily render the relation of the various retinal points, 
as conjoined by movements, intricate in the highest degree. 
But such relations as exist must pretty clearly rest on the 
intermediation of movements with their motor and retinal 
effects upon consciousness; and it seems probable, therefore, 
that the space value of any retinal point comes to be deter- 
mined by the position it occupies in such a system of move- 
ments. Thus, a point 20° to the right of the fovea in the 
visual field comes to mean to us a definite kind of motor 
impulse. One 20° to the left, another kind of impulse, etc. 
Whether the visual local sign is actually this sort of a fused 
retinal-kinsesthetic affair or not, there can be no doubt that, 
as adults, we have a remarkably accurate sense of the gen- 
eral space relations of the objects in the field of view, and 
that we can turn our eyes with unhesitating accuracy to any 
part of this field. 

The Third Dimension. — Psychologists have always been 
especially interested m the problem of the visual perception of 
distance, or the third dimension. Bishop Berkeley main- 
tained in his celebrated work entitled '' Essay Toward a New 
Theory of Vision ^^ (1709), that the eye cannot give us any 
direct evidence of distance, because any point in the visual 
field must affect one point and one only in the retina, and it 
can affect this no differently when it is two feet away from 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 1 51 

what it does when four feet away. Therefore^ Berkeley con- 
cluded that our perception of visual distance is dependent 
upon our tactual-motor experiences. This view overlooks 
several important facts^, including its plain contradiction of 
our common feeling about the matter. (In the first place^ we 
have two eyes, and each eye sees a part of solid objects varying 
slightly from that seen by the other. The psychical percept 
of such objects appears to be a fusion of the factors supplied 
by the two eyes^ and we get from this source the visual feeling 
of solidity. The stereoscope employs this principle^ and by 
giving us pictures which exaggerate somewhat the disparity 
in the point of view of the right and left eye affords us a 
most startling impression of distance and volume. Further- 
more, we converge our eyes more upon near points than upon 
far, and the muscular strain thus brought about may serve 
to inform us of differences in distance. Similarly, the 
muscles controlling the lenses contract with varying degrees 
of intensity in the effort properly to focus rays of light from 
objects at different distances. How far our consciousness of 
these focussing movements is significant for our judgments of 
distance it is difiicult to say. But it is at least clear that 
there are factors operative other than those Berkeley had 
in mind, and the genuineness of the optical sense of distance 
can hardly be seriously questioned. The eye is, in short, not 
merely a retina, it is a binocular motor organ as well. 
Formally, therefore, visual perceptions are always fused stere- 
oscopic binocular-motor experiences. 

We use in actual practice other forms of criteria for dis- 
tance. Thus, the apparent size of the object is used as a clue 
to its distance. By the apparent size of a man we may judge 
whether he be a mile or a hundred yards away. Con- 
versely, when we know the distance, we can employ it to form 
an estimate of the size of an object at that distance. Thus,^ 
if we know the approximate distance, we can be fairly sure 
whether the person we see is a man or a boy. 



152 PSYCHOLOGY 

The seeming size of objects runs roughly^ but not percisely^, 
parallel with the size of the retinal image. We make a certain 
compensation for objects at considerable distances.* 

The distinctness of the perceptual image is another crite- 
rion. Things seen dimly^ other things equal^, are judged to be 
far away. Objects near at hand seen dimly in this way^ as 
during a fog^ seem much magnified in size. We have dim- 
ness^ the sign of distance^ conjoined with a large image^ and 
we consequently judge the object to be much larger than it 
is^ because of its seeming distance. The contrary form of 
this confusion is experienced by persons going into the 
mountains for the first time. The unaccustomed atmospheric 
clearness renders distant objects unwontedly distinct^, and so 
they are misjudged as much nearer and much smaller than 
they really are. Our judgments of distance are seriously dis- 
turbed^ also^ when deprived of the assistance of familiar inter- 
mediary objects. Persons unacquainted with the sea are 
wholly unable to guess accurately the distance of vessels or 
other objects across the water. Light and shadow give us 
many trustworthy indications of contour^ and even the absolute 
brightness of the light seems to affect our judgment^ bright 
objects seeming to^ be nearer than those which are less bright. 

Inaccuracies of Space Perception. — Despite its general ac- 
curacy^ our visual perception is subject to sundry eccentric- 

* Much mystery has been made of the fact that the image on 
the retina is upside down, and still we see things right side up. 
This irrelevant wonder is like marvelling how we can see a 
sphere, when the cortical cells responsible for our seeing are 
arranged in a shapeless mass. The fact is, we have no direct 
personal consciousness of either retina or brain cells. The 
psychical image is a thing entirely distinct from the retinal 
image. To speak of this psychical image as having one position 
rather than another is simply equivalent to saying that a cer- 
tain set of motions are necessary to pass from one part of it to 
another. To pass from what we call the bottom to the top 
means a certain series of eye movements, or hand movements, 
and so on. 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 153 

ities^ the precise causes of which we cannot pause to discuss. 
In many cases^ indeed^ the reasons for them are far from cer- 
tain. Thus vertical lines are commonly judged longer than 
objectively equal horizontal lines. The upper portions of 
vertically sjTnmetrical figures look larger than the lower 
portions. The printed letter S and the figure 8 illustrate the 
supplementary principle, that to make the top and bottom 
parts appear of equal size the bottom one must be made 
larger. The seeming size of objects is affected by their sur- 
roundings, a kind of spatial contrast evidently existing. 
Figure 54 illustrates this. We might mention many other 
instances, but space forbids. 

In the establishment of effective correlations among our 



Fig. 54. The middle lines of the two figures are of equal length. 
To most observers the lower one seems shorter. This result 
is attributed to the contrast effect of the surrounding lines. 

several sources of space perception, there can be no question, 
as we have previously insisted, that movement is the great 
factor. Objects touched are, by the movement of the eyes, at 
the same time seen. The superposition of one object upon 
another, and the successive passing of one hand after the 
other over the things we touch, must rapidly serve to build up 
elaborate space perceptions upon the foundation of local 
signs, some of which are visual and some tactual. Our space,^ 
as we know it in adult consciousness, is, then, a distinctly 
synthetic affair, developed from two or three distinct sensory 



154 PSYCHOLOGY 

sources, through the intermediation of localising and explor- 
ing movements. 

Space Limen. — We may add for those who are interested 
in the quantitative aspect of these matters, that the limen for 
space perception in vision has generally been given at 60", 
this being the angular distance at which two lines can just 
be distinguished as two. Recent experimenters report a far 
smaller angle, one observer finding the limen at 15'', another at 
2.5''. In touch, the threshold for the detecting of two points 
as two is, for the finger-tips, roughly, 2 mm. The tongue is 
even more sensitive. But this can hardly be called the space 
limen with propriety, for single points are felt as having some 
extension. Apart from the tongue, the finger-tips are the 
most delicate tactual surfaces. Speaking generally, the deli- 
cacy of tactual space perception seems to be a function, first, 
of the richness of nervous innervation (those places which are 
most richly innervated being generally most sensitive), and 
second, of practice, or use. 

Localisation of Sound. — Although we may not admit that 
auditory sensations are themselves spatial, we cannot question 
that we localise sounds with considerable accuracy. In ou^^^^ 
view, however, this localisation occurs in the space world of 
vision-touch-movement. The two most important factors in 
the localisation of sound are, first, the relative amplitude of 
the sound waves distributed to the two ears, and, second, the 
acoustic complexity of the sound waves. If the right ear is 
more violently stimulated than the left, we locate the stimulus 
on the right side of the body. If the two ears are stimulated 
equally, we judge the sound to be somewhere in the median 
vertical plane, at right angles to the line joining the ears. 
But of the precise point in this plane we are very un- 
certain. 

With sounds that have many partial tones, these tones, es- 
pecially the higher ones, are so affected by the bones of the 
head and by the external ear, that they reach the two ears in • 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 155 

distinctly different condition^ save when they occur in the 
median plane. In consequence the timbre of complex sounds 
differs with their direction; and it seems quite certain that 
we employ these differences in our auditory localisation of 
direction^ and possibly also of distance. Our auditory esti- 
mates of distance, however, are highly inexact. To put it 
graphically, a sound on the right side may be heard as a fusion 
of tones a-h'C'd-e-f by the right ear, whereas by the left ear it 
could only be heard as a fusion of a-h-c, Now if the sound 
be moved to a point a little to the right of straight back, the 
right ear gets a-b-c-d-e, the left ear a-i-c-d. Our perception 
of the sound is of course always a fusion of the increment 
coming from the two ears. But our illustration may serve 
to show how these differences in timbre may act as local 
indices. Most persons seem to m_ake their localisation of 
sounds either in the form of visual imagery, or in the form 
of quasi-reflex localising movements of head and eye. It is 
possible that cutaneous sensations from the drum membrane 
are of some consequence in certain localisations, but the evi- 
dence for this is hardly conclusive. 

II. TIME 

Space and Time. — Although certain of our sensations may 
not, perhaps, contribute directs to our consciousness of space, 
all of them participate in furnishing us our sense of time. 
We are probably never wholly oblivious to the feeling of pass- 
ing time, and now and then it monojDolises our entire atten- 
tion. Unlike our perception of space, however, our direct , 
perception of time is a very limited, cramped sort of an affair. 
The eye permits us to range over the vast distances of inter- 
stellar space, but our perception of time, so far as it is an 
immediate sensory process, never gets far beyond the present - 
moment. It seems to be based upon our awareness of the 
changes occurring in consciousness itself. 



156 PSYCHOLOGY 

Primary Characteristics of Time Perception — We may per- 
ceive the passing of time^ either in the form of a mere vague 
duration^ or as an interval^ depending upon whether we give 
our attention to the filling of the period^ or to its limiting 
stimuli. In either case what we become aware of is never a 
mere point of time^ sharply marked off from that which has 
gone before and that which follows. It is always a conscious- 
ness of an extent of time which confronts ns^ however limited 
this extent may be. 

The Specious Present. — This consciousness of the sensibly 
present moment is often referred to as the ^^ specious present ^^ 
— a phrase suggested by E. E. Clay. This specious present 
seems to owe its extended nature to the fact that objects 
which have once been in consciousness do not drop out in- 
stantaneously^ but fade out often somewhat slowly. We are 
at any given moment^ therefore^ aware in the fringe of con- 
sciousness not only of that which a moment ago engaged our 
attention but also of that which a moment hence is more 
fully to occupy us. This period of waning which our 
thoughts display before passing entirely out of the field of 
consciousness is often entitled the period of '^ primary mem- 
ory .^^ In any case our direct perception of the passing of 
time is simply this process in which from moment to moment 
we become aware of the coming and going among our con- 
scious activities. Evidently the scope of such a perceptual 
process must be very circumscribed. As a matter of fact our 
direct, as distinguished from our indirect and inferred^ con- 
sciousness of time never exceeds a few seconds. Under 
favourable conditions it may mount up to twelve seconds or 
thereabouts^ but ordinarily it is much shorter. 

Factors in Direct Perception of Time. — Although all the 
senses may be employed for this purpose, hearing is the 
sense from which we gain our most accurate direct perception 
of time relations. Touch and the motor sensations rank next, 
and in actual practice generally operate with hearing. If we 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS I57 

are attempting to judge accurately the length of two time 
intervals we tend strongly to tap^, or make other rhythmical 
movements^ and our judgment is much assisted by these move- 
ments. The shortest interval which we can feel as a time 
period between two sounds is about 1-50 to 1-80 of a second. 
Sounds succeeding one another more rapidly than this we may 
distinguish as qualitatively different from absolutely simul- 
taneous sounds^ but we hardly recognise them as temporally 
separate. Furthermore^ we may feel as successive two 
stimuli which are objectively simultaneous. This is said to 
be true of the combination of a noise and a light sensation. 

When the auditory stimuli follow each other at the rate 
of less than 1-2 second^ we seem to sense the sequence in one 
way. When they come at intervals of 1-2 second to 3 
seconds^ we have a different mode of reaction. These latter 
cases we feel distinctly as durations. Probably the sensory 
content of these durations is largely made up of kinaesthetic 
sensations^ especially from the respiratory muscles. The 
shorter intervals first mentioned we sense more as ^^ mo- 
ments/^ although they may vary considerably in actual length. 
They are in no true sense^ therefore^ felt as mere points in 
time. If we compare intervals longer than three seconds we 
find ourselves beginning to employ our consciousness of the 
number of sensations^ or ideas^ which come into the mind. 
We tend to overestimate very small intervals and to under- 
estimate long intervals. The region of relatively correct 
judgment may be called the indifference zone. This is about 
6-10 to 7-10 of a second. 

Much as in the case of space perception^ we judge richly 
filled intervals as longer than relatively vacant intervals. 
" Empty time "^ is a myth. We always have some conscious- 
ness of change^ so long as we are conscious at all. We are 
also subject to illusions and to the effect of contrast, as in- 
spatial processes. An interval seems shorter when preceded 
by a long interval than when preceded by a short one, and 



158 PSYCHOLOGY 

vice versa. An interval bounded by intense stimuli seems 
shorter than one with more moderate limiting stimuli. If 
our attention is very much engaged upon some expected event 
we may perceive it as coming before another event which 
it actually follows. 

Generally speakings our consciousness of time^ as such^ is 
proportional to our interest and absorption in the occupation 
of the moment. When we are bored^ as in waiting for a 
train^ or when ill^ time drags outrageously. We may be con- 
scious of every loathsome increment in it. When^ on the 
other hand;, we are thoroughly interested^ long intervals may 
pass as in a flash. Certain drugs^ such as hashish^ have a 
curious effect upon our time perception^ lending a vastly 
magnified perspective to it^ so that events of a moment since 
seem ages remote. Dreams often display a similar distortion. 

Indirect Time Perception. — Clearly our practical use of 
time relations depends largely on other processes than those 
of direct perception. For our consciousness of the hour, the 
day, and the year we resort to the sun and moon, to clocks, 
watches, calendars and other indirect means of information. 
Despite the fact that the subject does not bear immediately 
upon perception^ it will be convenient to add a few words at 
this point upon one or two general features of our time con- 
sciousness. 

General Characteristics of the Apprehension of Time 
Relations. — When we recall intervals of time which belong 
to the more or less remote past, we immediately remark a 
seeming paradox. Intervals which actually passed very slowly 
for us appear retrospectively to have been very brief. Thus, 
a tedious illness, when time palled upon us almost beyond 
endurance, may in recollection seem very short, although we 
actually know it occupied weeks. Conversely, intervals which 
passed in a twinkling appear to us in memory as long drawn 
out. The reason for the paradox is obvious. Our feeling 
for the length of these remembered intervals depends upon 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 159 

the amount of content^ the number of events^ which we can 
read back into them. The interesting intervals are full of 
such things^ whereas the tedious periods are characterised by a 
depressing sameness^, which affords our memory little or 
nothing to lay hold upon. 

The change which comes over our feeling for the various 
intervals of time as we grow older is an interesting and 
familiar phenomenon. In childhood the year seems inter- 
minable, the month majestic, the week momentous, and even 
the day important, to say nothing of the hour. In adult 
years all these periods shrink, the longest ones most markedly. 
Our feelings for very short intervals, like the second and the 
minute, undergo no change of which we can speak confidently. 

Our notion of very remote times, whether thought of as 
past or future, is gotten in an almost wholly symbolic way, 
like our notion of vast numbers. The difference between 
2000 B. C. and 6000 B. C. is a thing for which we have a cold 
intellectual apprehension, quite distinct from our feeling for 
the difference between 1776 and 1860. 

Neural Basis of Time Perception. — We can say very little 
about the neural basis of time perception, and that little is 
largely of an inferential and speculative character. If the 
awareness of passing time rests, as we have maintained, upon 
our consciousness of the waxing and waning of the thought 
processes, there should be some fairly constant phase of the 
cortical activity corresponding to this conscious metabolism. 
We may suppose this to exist in the rising and falling of the 
pulses of neural activity throughout the various regions of 
the cortex. Time consciousness would depend, therefore, 
upon the overlapping of the activity of various groups of 
neurones. Beyond some such vague formulation as this we 
cannot go. Let it be remarked, however, that the conception, 
though vague, is wholly intelligible. 

Physiological Time Sense. — In closing this subject, we may 
mention two striking and perplexing peculiarities which many 



i6o PSYCHOLOGY 

persons possess. One of these is the capacity for telling with 
great accuracy the precise honr^ whether by day or by nighty, 
without any recourse to watch or clock, and without any 
deliberate computation or estimate. The other is the ability 
to awaken exactly at any given hour, without any preliminary 
disturbance of the soundness of sleep. Both of these per- 
formances probably rest upon some sort of recognition by 
the cortical centres of the rhythm of physiological activities 
constantly in progress in the body. But after all is said, the 
matter remains something of a mystery, a mystery which is 
enhanced, rather than removed, by the familiar attempt to 
find an explanation in " subconscious ^^ activities. It sug- 
gests certain of the experiences met with in post-hypnotic 
suggestion. Of hypnotism itself we shall have something to 
say in the final chapter of this book. 



CHAPTEE VIII 
IMAGINATION 

General Psychophysical Account of Re-presentation. — In 

the last chapter we saw that even in those psychophysical proc- 
esses where the sense organs were most obviously engaged^ 
the effects of past experience were very conspicuous. This 
fact will suggest at once the probable difficulty of establishing 
any absolute line of demarcation between processes of percep- 
tion and those which^ in common untechnical language, we 
call memory and imagination. We shall find as we go on 
that this difficulty is greater rather than less than our first 
impressions would indicate^, and it will be well to come to the 
matter with the understanding that we are examining various 
stages in the development of a common process, rather than 
with any idea of meeting entirely separate and distinct kinds 
of mental activity. We called attention to this same point at 
the outset of our analysis of the cognitive functions. 

Our study of habit brought out clearly the strong tendency 
of the nervous system to repeat again and again any action 
with which it has once successfully responded to a stimulus. 
This tendency is peculiarly prominent in the action of the 
brain as distinguished from the lower nervous centres and 
the peripheral nerves. The undoubted retention by the ner- 
vous organism of the modifications impressed upon it by the 
impact of the physical world, in what we call experience, is 
commonly designated ^^ organic memory,^^ and forms beyond 
question the physiological basis of conscious memory. Thus, 
in perception, as we have just seen, the sensory nerves may 
bring in excitations of as novel a character as you please, but 

i6i 



i62 PSYCHOLOGY 

the brain insists on responding to these stimulations in ways 
suggested by its previous experience. That is to say, it 
repeats in part some previous cerebral action. Similarly, we 
observe that from time to time thoughts flit through our 
minds which we have had before. This we may feel con- 
fident, from the facts we examined in Chapter II., means a 
repetition in some fashion of the cortical activities belonging 
to an earlier experience. Sometimes these thoughts are 
what we would commonly call memories, L e,, they are 
thoughts of events in our past lives which we recognise as 
definitely portraying specific experiences. Sometimes they 
are what we call creations of fancy and imagination. But 
even in this case we shall find it difficult to convince our- 
selves that the materials of which such thoughts are consti- 
tuted have not come to us, like those of clearly recognised 
memories, from the store-house of our past lives. 

Although we shall postpone the detailed examination of 
memory until the next chapter, and must therefore anticipate 
somewhat the full proof of our assertion, we may lay down the 
general principle at once, that all psychophysical activity in- 
volves a reinstatement, in part at least, of previous psycho- 
physical processes. Stated in terms of mental life alone, and 
reading the principle forward instead of backward, it would 
stand thus : all the conscious processes of an individual enter 
as factors into the determination of his subsequent conscious 
activities. With this general conception in mind, we have 
now to analyse the special form of representation known as 
imagination. . 

General Definition of Imagination. — The term imagina- 
tion, in its ordinary use, is apt to suggest the fanciful and 
the unreal, the poetic and the purely aesthetic. We speak in 
this way of great poems as ^' works of imagination.^^ We 
describe certain persons as of imaginative temperament when 
they are subject to romantic fiights of fancj^ etc. These im- 
plications are of course properly a part of the meaning of the 



IMAGINATION 1 63 

word, when emploj^ed in its usual nntechnical sense. But the 
psychologist uses the term in a broader way than this. In 
the preceding chapter we discussed the consciousness of ob- 
jects present to the senses. Imagination, in the psycholo- 
gist's meaning, might be called the consciousness of objects 
not present to sense. Thus, we can imagine a star which we 
do not see ; we can imagine a melody which we do not hear, an 
odour which we do not actually smell, etc. Stated in the 
more usual way, imagination consists in the reinstatement of 
previous sensory excitations. Speaking broadly, both per- 
ception and imagination would evidently involve the con- 
sciousness of objects, and their primary distinction from one 
another would be found in the physiological fact that one 
arises immediately from a sense organ stimulation, while the 
other does not. The principal psychical difference we pointed 
out in a previous chapter. The perceptual consciousness, 
which is peripherally originated, is almost invariably more 
vivid, enduring, and distinct than the centrally initiated proc- 
ess of imagination, and seems to us somehow more definitely 
^^ given'' to us, to be more coercive. But the similarity of 
the one process to the other is quite as obvious, and quite as 
important, as their difference. The stuff, so to speak, out of 
which visual imagination is made is qualitatively the same 
kind of material as that out of which visual perception is 
made. Indeed, when we describe imagination as a conscious- 
ness of objects, we have already suggested that which is 
really the fact, i. e., that all imagination is based in one way 
or another upon previous perceptual activities, and conse- 
quently the psychical material which we meet in imagination 
is all of a piece with the material which perception brings to 
us, and altogether like it, save that in imagination the 
fabric is often mu.ch faded and sometimes much cut up and 
pieced. So far as we approximate pure sensations in sense 
experience so far do we have images reinstating approxi- 
mately pure qualities as distinct from objects. Images of 



1 64 PSYCHOLOGY 

warmth^ for instance^ may have in them relatively little sug- 
gestion of objective character. 

Analysis of Imagination. (A) Content. — If we were to ask 
a dozen persons to think of a rose for a few moments, and then 
relate for ns the ideas which had passed throngh their minds, 
we should find that some of them had at once secured a mental 
picture of the rose in which the colour and the form were 
represented with considerable accuracy and detail. These 
persons evidently got visual images of the rose. Others would 
have found that the word ^'^rose^^ came at once into mind, 
followed by other words such as " American Beauty/^ " red/^ 
^^bud/^ etc. These words would, perhaps, have been heard 
mentally, and together with this mental hearing the more 
acute observers would report for us a similar consciousness 
of the sensations of movem^ent which arise from the throat 
and lips when one is enunciating the words. This group of 
persons would have experienced auditory and motor imagery. 
Still others would report a faint consciousness of the odour of 
the rose, which involves olfactory imagery; and a few might 
tell us that they fancied they got tactual images, such as 
would arise from the thought of touching the soft petals. 
It might occur, although v/e should find this result rare, that 
some individual would report all of these images as passing 
through his mind in sequence. 

It has been asserted that we have no genuine motor, or 
kinaesthetic, images, because every attempt to think of a 
movement results in our actually making the movement in a 
rudimentary way; so that we get a kinaesthetic sensation in- 
stead of a kinaesthetic image. There can be no doubt that 
this is often the case; e, ^., the effort to think how the word 
^^back^^ sounds will by most persons be found to be accom- 
panied by a definite feeling in the tongue and throat. More- 
over, there can be no doubt that the normal procedure is for 
every kinaesthetic ideational excitement to produce movement. 
This is only less immediately true of ideational excitement of 



IMAGINATION 165 

otiieT kinds. M^antime^ there seems to be no reason in the 
nature of the case why we may not have kinsesthetic images 
in a form definitely distinguishable from the kinaesthetic 
sensations to which they may lead; and many observers in- 
sist that their introspection verifies the reality of these 
images. 

According to the commonly accepted doctrine there are, 
theoretically at leasts as many kinds of images as there are 
sense organs. If our experiment be amplified and a large 
number of persons be submitted to it^ we shall find that it 
is much easier for most persons to secure with confidence 
accurate and reliable images of the visual^ auditory, and 
motor varieties than it is to secure those of the gustatory, 
thermal, tactual, and olfactory types. Later on we shall in- 
quire into the probable reason for this difference. Moreover, 
we should find in the same way, if we gathered statistics upon 
the subject as others have done, that many persons, even 
though they can with sufficient effort command various forms 
of images, actually have their imagination in its ordinary use 
dominated by some one or two forms. From this observa- 
tion has arisen the recognition of mental " types," and cur- 
rency has been given to the division into " audiles," " tactiles,'^ 
"motiles," etc. 

These types are, as we have just pointed out, seldom or 
never absolutely exclusive of one another. But they indi- 
cate the prevalent form of mental material. With most of 
us there appears to be a relatively good representation of 
several forms, especially the visual, auditory, tactual, and 
motor. In any event we find that specific images of one kind 
or another always constitute the content, the material, of 
imagination. 

Image and Idea. — It may serve to clarify the terminology 
employed from this point on, if we pause to distinguish tenta- 
tively between the terms i mage and idea. So far as we have in 
mind the sensuous content of a thought, e. ^., its visual or 



1 66 PSYCHOLOGY 

auditory character, we use the term iniage. So far as we wish 
to emphasise in addition to, or in distinction *f rom, this fact of 
sensuous constitution the purport, significance, or meaning 
of the image, we use the term idea. Images and ideas do not 
refer to two different states of consciousness, but to one and 
the same state, looked at now from the side of sensory char- 
acter and antecedents, now from the side of meaning. The 
matter will be discussed more fully in our analysis o%the 
concept. 

It should also be reiterated that in speaking of images as 
though they were distinct mental events, we do not mean to 
imply that the image constitutes the whole of consciousness 
at any given moment; nor that thought is made up of dis- 
connected bits of stuff called images. We are simply in- 
dulging the kind of abstraction in which we frankly an- 
nounced our purpose to indulge. Images merely represent, 
on the cognitive side, the more substantive moments in the 
onward flow of consciousness. They rise by indiscernible 
gradations out of antecedent conscious processes, and fade 
away into their successors without a vestige of abrupt separ- 
ation. Moreover, any given image is merged in a setting of 
sensory processes representing the momentary bodily condi- 
tions, attitude, etc., of which we made mention in discussing 
the physiological accompaniments of attention. 

(B) Mode of Operation of Imagination. — If we watch the 
play of our images under different conditions, we observe, 
regardless of the sense department to which they belong, cer- 
tain marked peculiarities which evidently call for separate 
classification of some kind. In dreams, for example, there 
often appears to be the utmost chaos in the fashion in which 
the images succeed one another; and when we have regard 
to their composition and character, they occasionally seem 
to be utterly novel and bizarre inventions, the like of which 
we have never known in waking experience. The hobgoblins 
of nightmares, with their inconsequential torments, are illus- 



IMAGINATION 167 

trations of this sort of thing. On the other hand, in revery 
our minds ocasionally wander off amid trains of images 
which are coherent in their relations to one another, and 
which evidently spring from recognisable experiences, of 
which they are in a measure faithful representations. Thus, 
the recollections of a journey may pass through our minds, 
diversified by excursions into connected fields of thought 
suggested by the various incidents of the trip. Can it be 
that these two forms of imagination are really identical? 
Is the process which brings back to mind the recollection of 
the sound of the multiplication table one and the same in kind 
with that which leads to the sudden perfection of an inven- 
tion, or the inspiration of a fine verse? To answer this 
question in even a provisional way requires a closer examin- 
ation of these two forms of imagination, to which psycholo- 
gists have assigned the names " reproductive ^^ and '' produc- 
tive '^ respectively. 

Reproductive Imagination. — Eeproductive imagination 
consists in the representation of perceptions, or images, which 
have previously appeared in our consciousness. Thus, I may 
close my eyes and obtain a visual image of the desk at which 
I am writing. Such an image would illustrate what psy- 
chologists mean by reproductive imagery, inasmuch as my 
imagination would in this case simply repeat, or reinstate, 
some conscious experience which has previously been present 
in my mind. Evidentty at this rate the great mass of the 
events which we are able to remember would be recalled by 
means of reproductive imagination. Our ordinary memory 
processes would be instances of reproductive imagination, or, 
as it is sometimes called, re-presentation. 

Productive Imagination. — Productive imagination on the 
other hand involves the appearance in consciousness of 
images which have never before entered the mind in their 
present order and form. Thus, the visual image of an eight- 
legged dog might be called up, although it is reasonably cer- 



l68 PSYCHOLOGY 

tain that most of us have never seen such an animal, nor 
even a picture of it. Such an image would illustrate, in a 
rough way, what is meant by productive, or constructive, 
imagination. 

Now it is a favourite conceit of the untutored mind to 
suppose that it is possible mentally to create absolutely new 
materials for ideas, that it is possible to burst over the bounds 
of one's past experience and beget thoughts which are wholly 
novel. This is a flattering delusion which a little reflection 
will effectually dispel, although there is a distorted truth 
underlying the vanity of the belief. 

In the case of the eight-legged dog it is clear that, although 
we may never have encountered just such a creature in any 
of our adventures, the superfluous legs with which we have 
endowed him, which constitute his sole claim to novelty, are 
merely as legs familiar items in every experience with the 
canine breed. 

The productivity of our imagination consists, therefore, 
in the modest feat of putting together in a new way ma- 
terials of a thoroughly familiar kind. There is, and can 
be, no question of our having originated de novo fresh 
elements of the psychical imagery. We shall find a similar 
thing true of any instance we might examine in which a 
genius has created a new poem, a new statue, a new melody 
or symphony, a new machine, or a new commercial process. 
In each and every case, startling as is the result, and novel 
as may be the combination in its entirety, the elements which 
have been thus ingeniously juxtaposed are all of them 
drawn in one way or another from the richness of the indi- 
vidual's previous experience. Productive imagination is 
productive, therefore, only within the limits set by the possi- 
bility of combining in new ways the materials of past states 
of consciousness. But such limitations, be it said, afford scope 
for an amount of originality and creative fertility which 
far surpass any human accomplishment thus far recorded. 



IMAGINATION 169 

Relation of Productive to Reproductive Imagination. — 

It appears at once from the foregoing statement that in 
one sense all productive imagination is really reproductive; 
and that in consequence we have in the last analysis only one 
form of relation obtaining between our present imagery and 
our previous consciousness. Strictly speaking this is un- 
doubtedly true. The differences which attract our attention 
to the seemingly distinct modes of imagination are primar- 
ily differences in the degree to which any given image^ or any 
sequence of images^ actually correspond to the entirety of 
some antecedent conscious event in our lives. When the cor- 
respondence is obvious^ we think of the imagery as reproduc- 
tive. When it is not^ we are likely to credit it with creative 
characteristics, and justly so, within the limits which we 
have designated. It only remains to notice one peculiarity 
about reproductive imagery which serves to modify some- 
what the purport of our conclusion. 

It is altogether problematical whether any image is ever 
in a thorough-going way a mere reinstatement, or repetition, 
of a previous perception or image. I may to-day, for ex- 
ample, think by means of an auditory-motor image of the 
word psychology ; I may do exactly the same thing to-morrow, 
and I shall then speak of having had the same image on two 
occasions. But it is clear in the first place that I cannot 
prove the two images to be really alike; for I can never get 
them side by side in my mind for comparison. When one 
is there, the other has gone, or has not yet arrived, as the 
case may be. Furthermore, if we turn to the considerations 
which we canvassed when we discussed the operations of the 
cerebral cortex, we shall find reason for thinking that no two 
images ever can be quite alike. For we saw that our con- 
sciousness, in which these images appear, and of which they 
are a part, apparently runs parallel with the brain activities X 
and it is quite certain that the brain, through its constant 
change of structure and tension, is never twice in precisely 



110 PSYCHOLOGY 

the same condition; and consequently is never in a position 
to lead twice to the same excitation of consciousness. 

On the whole^ then^ it is perhaps nearer the truth to say 
that all imagination is productive^ rather than reproductive. 
When we speak of having had the same image on several oc- 
casions^ what we really mean is that we have had in this 
way images which we employed to refer to the same object. 
They have thus served our purpose quite as efficiently as 
they could have done by being actual copies^ the one of the 
other. 

The same thing is more obviously true as regards any image 
which purports to represent a perception. Functionally^ as 
regards what it does for us^ what it symbolises^ it really does 
reinstate the perception; but it is not on this account neces- 
sarily an exact copy of the perception. The distinction be- 
tween reproductive and productive imagination must not^ 
therefore^ be conceived of as resting on ultimate differences. 
It marks a practical distinction^ which is useful in enabling 
us to indicate significant variations in the operations of our 
imagery. 

Successive Association of Images.— This is a convenient 
point at which to consider the principles controlling the se- 
quence of our images, as they pass through the mind. The 
so-called law of association, which has played historically so 
important a part in psychology, undertakes to formulate the 
facts under a single general principle, i, e., the principle of 
habit. We have mentioned in an earlier chapter the phenom- 
enon known as simultaneous association. The process which 
we are to examine at this juncture is designated successive 
association. 

The law of association asserts that whenever two images, 
or ideas, have been at any time juxtaposed in the mind, there 
is a tendency, if the first of them recurs, for the other to 
come with it. Furthermore, the law asserts that so far as 
concerns the sequence of ideationally aroused imagery, no 



IMAGINATION 171 

image ever comes into the foreground of consciousness un- 
less it has been in some wav connected with its immediate 
predecessor. The order of our thoughts is, in short, deter- 
mined by our antecedent experience. 

It is clear to the most casual reflection that this principle, 
if true, must operate under a number of definite limitations. 
We know, for example, that a given idea comes into the mind 
on one day with a certain set of accompaniments, and 
on another occasion presents itself with a wholly different 
escort. 

How is such a variation to be accounted for ? If we follow 
James in formulating the relation in brain terms, we may 
say that the liability of any special cortical activity, such as 
X, connected with the thought x^, to arouse any other cortical 
activity, such as 7/, connected with the thought y^, is propor- 
tional to the permeability of the pathway joining the brain 
areas involved in the production of x and y, as compared with 
the permeability of all the other pathways leading from the 
brain area involved in x to other regions of the cortex. 
(Figure 55.) Now this permeability must be largely a func- 
tion of previous use; that is to say, pathways which have by 
repeated employment become deep-cut in the brain tissues 
will, other things equal, be most pervious. Stated in purely 
psychological terms, this will mean thr^' the oftener any two 
ideas have actually been associated with one another, the 
more chance there will be that if the first one appears in 
consciousness the second one will accompany it. 

Among the many factors which must affect this perme- 
ability of the brain paths, three important ones are easily dis- 
cernible. These are the frequency, intensity, and recency of 
associative connection. Images which have been frequently 
associated evidently must be connected with neural activities 
which will tend, if once aroused, to react in the regular 
habitual way. Images which have been connected with one 
another in some vivid experience will be connected with in- 



172 



PSYCHOLOGY 





tense neural activities^ whose modifications of the brain tis- 
sues will therefore tend to be relatively deep and permanent. 
In this casC;, again^ we may look^ nnder the general operation 
of the principle of habit^ for practically the whole of the par- 
ticular psychophysical activity to be called ont^ provided any- 
thing starts up the first step in the process. Similarly, if two 
images have been recently associated, the pathwa5^s joining 
the brain tracts responsible for their accompanying cortical 

activities are likely to be 
d \ open; and the recurrence 

of the first image may 
5 \ readily bring with it the 

reinstatement of the sec- 
ond. When we take into 
account the enormous num- 
/ — -\ ber of our perceptual ex- 
— -^ y ) periences and the varied 
\^^^ richness which they present, 
we see at once that the num- 
ber of possible associates 
which the idea of any one 
of these experiences may 
possess is extremely large. 

If the idea 7 times 9 pops 
into my head, it is promptly 
followed by the idea 63. If, 
however, 4 times 9 comes to 
my mind,, the next idea is 
36. In both cases the idea 
9 is present, but the subse- 




Fig. 55. Altbougb pathways exist 
connecting the brain process 
X with the brain processes a, 
&, c, d, and y, if the pathway 
from a? to ^ is more pervious 
than the others, the activity of 
X is likely to be followed by 
the activity of y. 



quent associate depends upon the special concomitant with 
which the idea 9 is combined in the antecedent thought 
process. In a similar fashion our memory of special words 
in poetry depends upon the total mass of verbal associates 
with which they are surrounded. The word " mirth ^^ occurs 



IMAGINATION 173 

in two of the following lines, and taken alone might suggest 
either of the following groups of words. Taken with its 
predecessors it rarely fails to awaken its correct consequents. 

*' And, if I give thee honour due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 

" These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live." 

Even if no factors were operative in the modification of 
the general principle of association, other than those we have 
already mentioned, we should find it practically impossible 
ever to predict with confidence what particular idea would 
come to our mind at any special moment. The law of asso- 
ciation is not, therefore, a principle of prediction^ but simply 
a formula for rendering intelligible in a schematic way the 
nature of the influences which control the order of our 
thoughts. 

It remains to remark one further factor of equal impor- 
tance with those already mentioned in its effect in determin- 
ing what associates shall recur with an idea at any given 
time. This is our momentary interest, the prevailing ten- 
dency of our attention. If our minds are dominantly en- 
gaged upon any line of thought, as when we are wrapt up in 
some absorbing problem, or plunged in some profound emo- 
tion, the ideas which flood our minds are almost wholly such 
as sustain intimate relations to the matter in hand. When 
we are overcome by sorrow all our thoughts centre about our 
grief. No other thoughts can gain a hearing from us. And 
the same thing is true in varying degree of any intense 
mental preoccupation. ^Ye see, then,, that the principle of 
association, or cortical habit, is modified, not only by the 
changing relations among the factors of past experience al- 
ready mentioned, e, g,^ such as frequency and recency, but 
also by the present psychophysical conditions reflected in 
such things as our attention and interest. This means, so 
far as concerns the brain, that those pathways are normally 



174 PSYCHOLOGY 

most pervious which connect most intimately with the entire 
mass of ongoing brain processes. The astonishing vagaries 
of dream consciousness illustrate what may occur when all 
dominating purpose is removed and the associative ma- 
chinery is allowed to run wild and uncontrolled. 

Psychologists have been interested in various types of asso- 
ciation^ which they have called association by contiguity, 
association by similarity, contrast, etc. Association by con- 
tiguity is essentially identical with the process of which we 
have been speaking heretofore. A suggests B, not because of 
any internal connection, but because the two have often been 
contiguous to one another. This contiguity is originally per- 
ceptual in character. The objects are actually present 
together to the physical senses. All association is primarily 
dependent upon the contiguity of perceptual objects, as will 
be readily apprehended when the dependency of images upon 
perception is recalled. 

Ideas apparently follow one another at times, however, 
which could not have been previously experienced together, 
and in certain of these cases we remark at once that the two 
things suggested by the ideas are similar, contain an internal 
element of connection. We meet a total stranger, perhaps, 
and instantly observe the similarity to some absent friend. 
Poetry owes much of its witchery and charm to the delicate 
and unusual resemblances which the poet detects for us, as 
when he says : 

" So gladly, from the songs of modern speech 

Men turn, 

And through the music of the languid hours, 
They hear, like ocean on a Western beach 
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey." 

All the more conspicuous forms of genius seem highly 
endowed with this type of association, which is undoubtedly 
a genuine form of mental activity. We shall err only if w€ 



IMAGINATION 



175 



suppose the similarity to be somehow the cause of the associ- 
ation. As a matter of fact we always observe the similarity 
after the association has occurred^ not before^ as should be 
the case if it were strictly speaking a cause. James suggests, 
and this seems as plausible as anything yet proposed, that the 
brain activities involved in thoughts of two similar things 
are in part identical, and that consequently we have in their 
suggestion of one another a further instance of the principle 
of cortical habit. (Figure 56.) The brain processes x and 
y, having the similar thoughts x^ and y^ as their concomitants, 




Fig. 56. 

possess a common brain activity z. When x is active, there is 
thus a chance that the excitation of z may stir up y, to which 
z also belongs. Oftentimes the elements of likeness between 
two objects are several, as in cases of personal resemblance. 
On other occasions the resemblance may reduce to a single 
element. But the principle of explanation is the same in 
either case. 

Association by contrast is really a modification of the con- 
tiguity and similarity classes. Things are not felt as con- 
trasting unless they have some element of likeness, and tu 
feel this likeness and difference commonly involves experiene- 
ing them together, as Avhen we come to remark the contrast 
of black with white. 



176 PSYCHOLOGY 

Miss Calkins has pointed out that in certain associative 
sequences the image which comes into the mind entirely dis- 
places the one which previously held sway. She calls this 
type of case desistent association. In other cases, however, 
a part only of the departing image is lost, the rest being 
taken np into the new image which succeeds it. This she 
calls persistent association. This analysis seems to touch 
upon a real distinction, but it clearly introduces no basal 
alteration into the general nature of the principle controlling 
the ideational sequences. 

Genesis and Function of Imagery. — The best clue to a 
correct understanding of the function of the image is to be 
gained, as in the case of all organic activities, when possible, 
by examining the conditions of its genesis, its appearance 
upon the field of psychophysical processes. 

In several of the preceding chapters we have examined the 
evidence underlying our thesis, that consciousness appears 
at those points where the purely physiological mechanisms of 
the organism prove inadequate to cope with the requirements 
of its life. We have seen how the organism is endowed at 
birth with certain established sensory-motor neural pathways, 
by means of which it is enabled to respond with appropriate 
movements to certain primitive kinds of stimuli. We have 
also seen how, at the places where these responses are found 
insufficient, sensory consciousness appears; and we find, first, 
vague sensation processes, and then crude perception. We 
have also noticed how attention, working upon this crude per- 
ceptual matrix, succeeds in differentiating it into the mul- 
titude of qualities and objects which constitute the world of 
the adult. In seeking to detect the appearance and the 
function of imagery, we must remember, then, thatffrom the 
outset of life organic activities are in progress and the sen- 
sory-motor activities in particular are in full swing. Each 
sensory stimulus is producing movements, which in turn 
are productive of fresh sensations. It is out from such a 



IMAGINATION I77 

cycle of onward moving coordinations as these, therefore, that 
the image emerges; and if onr previous hypothesis is really 
adequate to all the facts, it must be that /the image is called 
forth by some need of the organism which the processes that 
we have already described are incompetent to satisfy. This 
is undonbtedly the case, and we have only to observe the evi- 
dent limitations in the capacities of the perceptual processes, 
taken by themselves, to discern certain of the functions which 
our images subserve. 

Perception enables its possessor to register in consciousness 
the particular object momentarily presented to the senses. But 
if consciousness never advanced beyond the merely perceptual 
stage, it is not apparent that it could serve to develop sys- 
tematised and intelligent movements of response to environ- 
mental demands and opportunities. We should always live in 
the immediate present, and our minds could consciously look 
neither backward nor forward. Now it is in the image that 
we find the psychical mechanism for accomplishing both these 
highly important functions. 

If an organism is to be in the fullest possible measure 
master of its own fate, it must be able to bring to bear upon 
the incitations of any particular stimulus all the informa- 
tion which its total experience will permit. Its response 
must thus represent, not onty the intrinsic tendency to overt 
action, which belongs to the stimulus itself, but it must also 
represent and express all the tendencies to movement which 
remain as the result of yielding to previous incitations. Un- 
less there be some organic arrangement of this kind, by means 
of which each act may represent with some adequacy the 
product of all related experiences in the past, one's actions 
would be as purely reflex, or as purely haphazard, as those of 
the least developed creatures. It is obvious that mere per- 
ception — although, as we have noticed, it does embody in 
a certain way the outcome of antecedent consciousness — does 
not in any sufficient manner provide for such a focussing of 



178 PSYCHOLOGY 

one^s past experiences upon the selection of specific acts^ as is 
demanded by the best accommodatory responses. Without 
the image we might make many appropriate reactions^ but we 
should also make many more inappropriate ones than we 
now do; and any development of intelligence^ in the proper 
sense of the word^ w^onld be impossible.* 

The image is^ then^ the primary psychical process by means 
of which we bring into mind at need the experiences of the 
past. It is also the means by which we forecast the future. 
If I wish to remember what I read yesterday^ I accomplish 
it by summoning images which represent the experience at 
issue. If I wish to decide which of several lines of conduct 
I had best pursue^ or which of several possible acts my enemy 
is likely to hit upon^ I do it in either case by the use of images, 
which serve me in my tentative prognostication. These 
images may of course be of any variety ;, but in my own case 
they are likely to be largely visual — images of objects^ or 
scenes — and auditory-motor images of words^ for my own 
thinking goes on largely in these terms. The image thus 
affords us the method by which we shake off the shackles of 
the world of objects immediately present to sense^ and secure 
the freedom to overstep the limits of space and time as our 
fancy^ or our necessity^ may dictate. 

If we have correctly diagnosed the chief function of our 
imagery we may be certain that it makes its first appearance 
at a very early stage in the conscious life of the human being. 
For obvious reasons it is not possible to designate the precise 

* It is not certain that in animals the effects of pleasure and 
pain may not at times operate to produce the semblance of 
reflective intelligence, by discouraging some acts and encourag- 
ing others, without the interposition of any definite imagery. On 
the whole, however, it is difficult to believe that some vague 
counterpart of the image is not present, provided the action be 
not really dependent upon veiled reflexes. The impossibility of 
inspecting directly the animal consciousness renders ail dogmat- 
ism upon such questions unwarrantable. 



IMAGINATION 179 

moment in the unfolding of the life of the mind at which 
the image is clearly and distinctly differentiated from the 
vague matrix of sensor3^-motor activities which we have seen 
characterising the first experiences of the child. But we may 
be confident that it is beginning to emerge in some sense 
departments^ whenever we see unmistakable signs of volition^ 
sav at about the twelfth week in most children; and there is 
no reason whj?' it may not be present^ in a crude^ indefinite 
way^ from the beginning of extra-uterine life. 

The Training of Imagery. — The development of imagery 
in the main runs parallel with that of perception^ with which^ 
as we saw in the previous chapter^ it is very intimately con- 
nected. It holds to reason^ without any elaborate justifica- 
tion^ that if any sense organ is allowed to go unused, or is 
used infrequently, the imagery belonging to that special sense 
cannot develop freely. In confirmation of this general asser- 
tion we have but to notice that the imagery which most of 
us find we can command with greatest accuracy and flexibility 
is that belonging to the perceptual processes with which we 
are most intimately familiar, i. e., vision, hearing, movement, 
and touch. Compared with these, our images of temperature, 
smell, and taste are relatively impoverished. Moreover, chil- 
dren who lose their sight before they are five years old com- 
monly lose all their visual images, thus exhibiting further 
evidence of the connection of the image with sense organ 
activitity. ISTevertheless, we have to admit that we display 
individual peculiarities and preferences in the kind of imagery 
which we employ that cannot be satisfactorily explained in 
terms of sense organ activities. The eye and the ear may 
be used with indifferent frequency and effectiveness, and still 
the imagery be dominantly of either the visual or auditory 
kind. Differences of this sort probably rest upon unassign- 
able structural variations, such as those which determine the 
colour of our eves. 

If we examine the type of development which characterises 



l8o PSYCHOLOGY 

the growth of any special form of imagery, such, for example, 
as the visual, we shall find that two distinct tendencies are 
discernible. We find (1) that the number of objects which 
can be simultaneously visualised increases, and (3) that the 
vividness, detail, and definiteness of the image increases. It 
is astonishing to observe how rapidly this capacity for visualis- 
ing unfolds in response to a little systematic effort and prac- 
tice. By devoting to the task a few minutes each day for a 
week, one may learn to visualise with great detail and re- 
markable accuracy the form, size, colour, etc., of even large 
and complex objects, such, for example, as great buildings. 
Generally at the outset we find that our images are relatively 
faint, meagre, and unstable; they lack vividness and veracity 
in colour, detail in form, and appropriate dimensions in size. 
Images of other varieties, auditory, for instance, are similarly 
defective at times, and yield as a rule to discipline, with a 
corresponding form of development. 

But after all, the important development of our imagery is 
not to be found by inquiring for such changes as we thus 
detect, when we consider it of and by itself apart from its 
place in the totality of psychophysical activity. The essen- 
tial thing is the increase in the dexterity with which we em- 
ploy it, and the growth in the efficiency with which it serves 
its special purpose in the economy of the organism. We have 
already commented upon its principal function. It is the 
psychical device by which we are enabled consciously to 
focalise upon our acts the lessons of our previous relevant ex- 
periences, and through which we forecast the future in the 
light of the past. 

To perform this function with the greatest ease, prompt- 
ness, and efficiency is the goal toward which the develop- 
ment of our imagery tends, both in those cases where we, 
as psychologists, purposely bend our efforts in that direc- 
tion, and also in those cases characterising ordinary prac- 
tical life, in which our attention is concentrated upon, and 



IMAGINATION i8i 

absorbed in^ the execution of some act^ and for the moment 
is oblivious to the means employed. 

We have already^ in an earlier chapter, outlined the general 
nature of this development, and we need hardly do more here 
than refer to the significant facts, and cite an instance or two 
of the process involved. If I wish to express some proposi- 
tion with the greatest possible force and clearness, I go about 
it by calling into my mind auditory-motor word images. 
Clearly I might use other kinds of imagery without affecting 
the relations which we are now examining. As a matter of 
fact I generally use, as do most persons under these condi- 
tions, auditory and kinsesthetic imagery. From among these 
word images I select that combination which appeals to my 
judgment as most appropriate and effective. Evidently the 
success which I achieve will be in part conditioned by the 
extent and richness of the images which I am actually able 
to summon. We speak sometimes of persons possessing a 
rich vocabulary. In the case of our illustration, my posses- 
sion of a good vocabulary means, when stated in strictly psy- 
chological terms, that I can command a large and effective 
group of auditory word images. 

As a child my imagery of the verbal kind is necessarily 
circumscribed in amount and phlegmatic in operation. When 
adult years are reached the amount of the available imagery 
is ordinarily much augmented, but unless there be discipline 
in its actual use, it is commonly found that much investment 
of time and effort is needed in order to secure the best and 
most expressive terms. The only real and infallible means 
of training one^s imagery for such actual operations is found 
in the definite use of it, either by writing or speaking. Prac- 
tice is here, as elsewhere, the one invariable clue to the highest 
attainable success. The business of such imagery is always 
to be found in some act, and the only way to develop it and 
make it reliable and efficient is by worlcing it. For various 
reasons, which we need not pause to discuss, the possession 



l82 PSYCHOLOGY 

of a good vocabulary for writing purposes does not neces- 
sarily carry with it a rich vocabulary for speaking; and in 
less degree the converse is true. One commonly requires 
separate training for each form of activity, if the best results 
are to be attained. 

When we were discussing the principle of habit we observed 
that all such coordinations as those which we have just men- 
tioned tend^ under the influence of practice, to become essen- 
tially automatic; and that consciousness consequently tends 
to disappear from their control. If this be always the case, 
the idea is at once suggested that in such a process as is 
involved in our illustration, i, e., the process of linguistic 
expression, the same tendency should be in evidence. I be- 
lieve this to be actually the fact, and I think a little observa- 
tion will confirm the position. We shall have occasion to 
examine the question more at length when we discuss later on 
the relation of language to reasoning, but a word or two may 
properly be inserted here. 

Just in the degree to which our linguistic expression 
involves thoroughly familiar ideas, and deals with familiar 
situations, do we find our consciousness of definite imagery 
vague and indistinct. A student inquires : '^ What did you 
mention as the date of the battle of Waterloo ? ^^ Instantly, 
almost without any definite consciousness of what I am about 
to say, I find I have replied — ^^ 1815.^^ But when the expres- 
sion is of some relatively unfamiliar idea, when the thought 
presents the possibility of several discrepant modes of utter- 
ance, I promptly become aware of imagery. Not always verbal 
imagery of course. That consideration is wholly secondary. 
But imagery of one kind or another I always find when the 
coordination required cannot be executed in the purely— or 
almost purely — habitual manner. If the situations with 
which we have to cope by means of speech were more widely 
fixed, instead of being, as they are in fact, relatively unstable 
and fluid, relatively changeable, I see no reason to doubt that 



IMAGINATION 1 83 

speech^ like walkings might become essentially automatic — as 
I believe it to be in part already. 

Summarising^ then^ we may say that all imagery arises 
ont of perceptual activities^ upon which its appearance is. 
therefore^ most immediately dependent; it develops by use 
in the actual processes of controlling action^ and develops its 
real functions in no other way. This accounts for its appear- 
ance in greatest profusion in connection with those sense 
processes which are most significant for human life. It tends 
to drop away after it has served, in the general congeries of 
consciousness, to establish effective habits. It only remains 
to add, that while it arises from perception, it also reacts upon 
perception; for we perceive with fresh vitality those objects, 
qualities^ and relations for which we possess distinct images. 



CHAPTEE IX 
MEMOEY 

Memory and Imagination. — A considerable portion of the 
mental events which we examined in the last chapter as 
instances of imagination^ might with propriety have been 
described as phases of memory. In our common use of the 
term ^^ memory/^ we mean to indicate such processes as 
involve recollection in any fashion whatever. We say in this 
way that our memory informs us that Napoleon was impris- 
oned at St. Helena; that 8 x 7=56 ; that yesterday was rainy, 
etc. We also speak of remembering that on a certain occasion 
we m_ade a certain remark to a certain individual. Evidently 
these illustrations might all be described as cases of reproduc- 
tive imagination, for they all involve reproductive imagery. 
We may be reasonably sure at once, then, that memory and 
imagination have one point at least in common, i. e.^ the 
image. 

But there is one important difference between memory, in 
the more precise meaning of the word, and mere imagination, 
which makes it desirable to devote a separate chapter to its 
study. We might go on indefinitely having similar, or even 
identical, images pass through our minds, and, if we did not 
recognise them as having been previously portions of our 
experience, we should never in any strict sense be able to 
speak of our having a memory process. In memory, our 
consciousness not only re-presents old experiences to us, but 
we are aware of the images thus brought to us as actually 
standing for items of our previous states of consciousness. 
If I am turning over in my mind the wisdom of making a 

184 



MEMORY 185 

journey to India^ the thoughts which come into my mind are 
brought there by some form of reinstatement of knowledge 
which I have gained on some earlier occasion. Productive, 
or reproductive, processes of imagery are at work. But my 
attention may be wholly monopolised with the reference of 
these thoughts to the future. They may not at any point in 
my thinking present themselves as mere exponents of my ante- 
cedent experiences. I think of India as an interesting 
country, and my 'attitude is of course determined by things 
which I have previously learned about it. But this fact of 
my having gotten my information in some moment of my 
earlier life may drop wholly out of sight in my enthusiasm 
over the knowledge itself. Clearly, then, there is a distinc- 
tion between the mere reappearance of ideas in consciousness, 
and the fact of memory, as involving recognition of these 
ideas as elements in my own past history. 

Definition of Memory. — ^We may define memory, then, with 
more preciseness than we have before attempted, by quoting 
James' words. "Memory proper — is the knowledge of an 
event or fact, of which meantime we have not been thinking 
with the additional consciousness that we have thought^ or 
experienced it before/^ 

Analysis of Memory.— Let us take a specific instance of 
memory as thus defined and examine it. Suppose we attempt 
to recall where we were and what we were doing at 10 o'clock 
on the fifteenth day of last month. Ordinarily we shall be 
obliged to begin by remembering upon what day of the 
week that month began, and this in turn may require our 
remembering upon what day the present month came in. Let 
us suppose that we find in this way that the fifteenth of the 
preceding month fell upon a Tuesday. If our life is subject 
to a fixed routine, this will generally suffice to give us the clue 
to our whereabouts and doings at the hour suggested. After 
a moment's reflection we remember, perhaps, that we were 
ii^ the library reading American history, and upon a little 



186 PSYCHOLOGY 

more reflection we may recall what other persons were in 
the room^ and what portions of the text we were reading. 

Memory and Association, or Cerebral Habit. — This analysis 
at once reveals what we shall find true in any case we may 
select, i. e,, that we call back our memory ideas, or im^ages, by 
means of ideas which are associated with them. In order to 
solve the problem set ns by the question in our illustration, 
we began by calling into mind ideas which we knew to be con- 
nected with the solution. In this way, little by little, we 
obtain the clue to our occupation at the time suggested. 
/Memory depends, then, for its operation upon the principle of 

i, 

^' association, and this principle is in the last analysis identical 
with the law of habit in the cortical processes of the cere- 
brum, as was shown in the previous chapter. 

Memory and Imagery. — If we inquire into the nature of the 
mental content 'which has passed through our consciousness 
in any such case of memory, we find that it is made up of 
images — visual, auditory, motor, etc. When we reach the 
goal of our endeavour, and succeed in recalling our presence in 
the library, we discover that the content of our thought is 
not only made up of images, but that over and above this 
fact is to be remarked the peculiar character of the imagery. 
Just in the measure in which our recollection is detailed and 
confident, we shall ordinarily find the imagery profuse and 
exact in its representation of the temporal and spatial order 
of the events and objects present to consciousness in the 
original experience. This consideration affords us, therefore, 
a practical distinction between the imagery involved in mere 
reproductive imagination and that employed in memory. 
We can symbolise the matter as in the accompanying diagram 
(figure 57). In reproductive imagination the image X 
brings with it only the images Y and Z, and these are 
insufficient to give it a specific setting in time and space. In 
memory, the image a brings with it the extensive cluster 
of images &, c, d, etc., which serve to reinstate with 



MEMORY 



187 



some approach to compieteness the experience which they 
purport to represent. There is commonly a difference^ then^ 
both in the quantity and the character of the imagery found 
in memory as distinct from reproductive imagination. All 
memory is reproductive imagination. But not all reproduc- 
tive imagination is memory, as we have defined it. 

Memory and Recognition. — One still more important 
peculiarity is noticeable in this case of memory which we 
are analysing. After we have, by means of associated images, 
gotten into mind our whereabouts and acts at the time named. 







Fig. 57. 

and after the imagery portraying our situation has been 
developed in consciousness, it is still necessary, if this is not 
all to be futile, that we should recognise, identify, and assent 
to the images thus brought before our notice, as indicating 
the actual experience to be recalled. This fact of recognition 
we have previously emphasised as a distinguishing mark of 
memory when compared with imagination. It seems to be 
an ultimate and unanalysable property of consciousness. But 
however much it may baffle our attempts to dissect it, there 
can be no question of its fundamental import, and we must 
accordingly take account of it. 

Memory an Outgrowth of Recognition. — It seems on the 
whole probable that memory, in the meaning of our defini- 
tion, has grown out of a cruder process of recognition which, 



1 88 PSYCHOLOGY 

although it is now no longer sole pi^bprietor of the activity^ 
still accompanies the memory act in its elaborate forms as a 
basal and indispensable characteristic. If we examine^ for 
example^ the actions of an infant^ we very early observe evi- 
dences of the recognition of objects. Thns^ the mother^s face^ 
the sounds of preparing food^ the contact sensations 
occasioned when clothing is put on or off^ are all of them 
recognised at a period when it would be hazardous to assume 
that any independent memory imagery has as yet become dis- 
engaged from the general sensory continuum of conscious- 
ness. Clearly then^ the recognition process may begin with 
conscious events which are dominantly of the sensory and 
perceptual kind; whereas our contact with it thus far in our 
study has been primarily in connection with representational 
activities of the centrally initiated character. 

Psychophysical Conditions of Sensory Kecognition. — ^When 
we consider the neural conditions uin j^ which sensory recog- 
nition arises in the young babe^ it is immediately suggested 
to us that recognition depends primarily upon the reexcita- 
tion of pathways in the nervous system over which nervous 
impulses have previously travelled. The psychical thrill 
which such stimulation sets up finds an echo in the organism^ 
which is probably the beginning of recognition. If we take 
this fact of recognition^ in connection with the other facts we 
noticed when describing the beginnings of habit^ we shall 
secure a deeper insight into the mode of development peculiar 
to the process here at issue. 

Take the case of a child learning to recognise its mother. 
At first, when the mother takes the child up to be fed, the 
visual, tactual, and gustatory stimulations set up miscellaneous 
movements which are in the main uncoordinated and utterlv 
variable. Little by little, however, as these sense impressions 
are repeated, and their agreeable consequences are experi- 
enced, the movements tend, after the manner we have already 
described, to settle down into the relatively coordinated 



MEMORY 189 

groups which the experience encourages. Smiling^ gurgling, 
jerking the limbs in movements anticipatory of being taken 
up rapidly appear and become fixed as habits. 

Very quickly, then, these repeated sense impressions set up 
sensory-motor coordinations, of which tiie conscious process 
of recognition is the psychical accompaniment. These impres- 
sions promptly come to mean certain movements. Indeed, 
the movements are actually initiated by the impressions, and 
recognition is the mental state which observes, assents to, and 
in a sense guides, these physiological responses. The psy- 
chophysical activity in recognition does not involve merely a 
repetition of these sense stimulation; it involves a reinstate- 
ment of a sensory-motor cycle, and the recognition factor, as 
we isolate this on the psychological side, is simply the peculiar 
quale which belongs to this cycle. As these responses become 
more and more automatic, the psychical part of the activitj^ 
tends to evaporate, as ^,:e have so often pointed out. In just 
the measure in which tliis occurs do we cease to feel any clear, 
definite, vital sense of familiarity, any tingling thrill of recog- 
nition. This is illustrated in adult life by the "matter of 
course ^^ manner in which we respond to the thousand and 
one objects which we see every day — the books, papers, ink- 
stand and pens on our desks, the tables, chairs, windows and 
lamps in our rooms, the trees on our familiar streets, the shape 
and colour of our own houses, etc. We recognise all these 
things of course, but it is with a relatively automatic, dim 
kind of consciousness, which contrasts sharply with the vivac- 
ity and distinctness of the feeling which we get upon first 
seeing these same objects after prolonged absence. We may 
feel moderately confident, therefore, that recognition of the 
sensory variety rests upon the reinstatement of acquired sen- 
sory-motor coordinations ; i. e., on the genetic side it displays 
a period of conflict of impulses and movements with mal- 
adjustment, a period of increasingly efficient adaptation, and 
a final period in which the conscious factor tends to drop out. 



I90 PSYCHOLOGY 

sometimes apparently doing this^ sometimes stopping just 
short of jiisappearance. 

Psychophysical Conditions of Ideational Recognition. — 

When we recognise ideas^ or images^ in distinction from per- 
ceptions^ as having previously occupied our consciousness^ the 
strictly mental features of the case do not differ materially 
from those we have just described. We are ordinarily ;, per- 
haps^ more definitely aware of the fringe of suggested images 
with which an idea that we recognise promptly surrounds 
itself^ although this is apparently not an invariable feature 
of recognition. But the production of an emotional reaction^ 
or mood^ which we may name the familiarity feelings is com- 
mon to both the sensory and the ideational forms of recog- 
nition. Generally^ but not always, the act of recognition is 
agreeable, and this, too, is true whether the act be of the 
sensory or the ideational kind. Probably the mere act of 
recognition is, as such, always agreeable, although the object, 
or content of the thought recognised, is. of course sometimes 
quite otherwise. Moreover, both kinds of recognition, sensory 
and ideational, may vary almost indefinitely as regards the 
distinctness and the degree of elaboration belonging to the 
various parts of the process. We may thus find that an idea 
which comes into our mind — for example, the visual image of 
some person^s face — calls up the vague feeling '^ f amiliar,^^ 
" seen before,'^ and nothing more. Or it may surround 
itself with a number of other images and we may at once 
recognise it as the face of a speaker whom we heard last 
week. In both cases, and in all instances of recognition, 
however, it must be remembered that the mental act of 
explicit recognition is something unique; something which 
is not simply synonymous with these accompanying condi- 
tions which we are describing. When we get these accom- 
panying conditions we get the act too, and when they are all 
absent, the act is apparently absent. But the mental relating 
of the remembered idea, or the remembered perception, to the 



MEMORY 191 

past is something distinctly additional to and beyond these 
concomitants. 

On the physiological side it seems probable that ideational 
recognition is mnch like sensory recognition, save as regards 
the neural processes which initiate it. The sense organ activ- 
ity is clearly not the immediate predecessor of the cortical 
action underlying recognition in the case of its ideational 
form. But the motor response is essentially identical, and 
its cortical basis is, for all we can see, of a similar character. 
The matter can be put diagrammatically, as in the accom- 
panying figure (58). In the case of sensory recogni- 

Ci C2 Cs 







Fig. 58. 

tion the process starts in the sense organ (SO) and is trans- 
mitted to the sensory regions of the cortex (SC), arousing 
perception. Thence it is transmitted to other cortical centres 
((7i, C2, etc.), resulting in the arousal of supplementary ideas, 
which serve to give the perception its place in past experience, 
and the process is then carried over to the motor regions 
(i¥(7), and thus out into the voluntary and involuntary 
muscles, producing the habitual response in completion of the 
sensory-motor cycle. In ideational recognition the process 
is of the same character, save that now the sense organ origin 
of the cortical excitation is lacking. The process starts, so 
far as we can discern, in some cortical centre like (7i. At^all 
events, if a sensory process is really responsible for the result, 
it lies so far back in the series of cortical activities that we 



192 PSYCHOLOGY 

cannot confidently connect it with the result. It ought not 
to be necessary to point out that the actual motor reactions 
characterising these processes of recognition may be of an 
extremely rudimentary and fragmentary kind. But the tend- 
ency to make the movements^ with its indication of a degree 
of innervation in the mortor cortex^ seems to be a genuine 
part of the act. 

Remembering and Forgetting. — It has already been abun- 
dantly emphasised that memory (using the term from this 
point on to the end of the chapter in the broader sense of 
common parlance, as equivalent to recollection in its various 
forms) depends in the last analysis upon the retentiveness of 
the nervous tissues. When we are not occupied with a 
thought, or an image, so far as we know, the thought, or 
image, simply goes out, ceases to exist. Certain psycholo- 
gists prefer to think of these psychological facts as stored up 
in the mind in the form of what they call '^'^ psychical disposi- 
tions,^^ or tendencies. But however it may fare with this last 
mentioned theory, the modifications of the cortical tissues 
which our experiences bring about are certainly relatively 
durable; and when the cortex is called upon to resuscitate a 
previous experience, it summons the* appropriate centres, with 
their imbedded modifications, to perform again the action 
previously executed. This is apparently the physical basis of 
imagination and memory. In one sense, therefore, it is 
probable that no item of our lives is ever literally and entirely 
forgotten. Even if we find it impossible, as we sometimes 
do, voluntarily to recall a certain idea, we must believe that 
the experience in which we originally encountered it has 
left its indelible impress upon the substance of the brain, 
whose action will in consequence be somewhat different from 
that which it might have manifested had the experience in 
question never befallen us. 

Despite this belief, forgetfulness is a constant and often 
exasperating characteristic of daily life. It also has a useful 



MEMORY 193 

function^ which we do not always recognise. From the psy- 
chophysical point of view we obtained the most important 
explanation of the value of forgetting when we were examin- 
ing the facts about attention. In the chapter devoted to 
attention we found that consciousness is seemingly never 
impartial in its response to the objects presented to it. It is 
alwaj^s primarily concerned with some particular portion of 
the objective field. It neglects this and attends to that, it 
is dimly aware of this and keenly cognisant of that. Ifow, if 
memory is dependent upon the modifications which neural 
stimulations impress upon the cerebral cortex, and if con- 
sciousness and cortical action run parallel with one another, 
as we have seen is apparently the case, it holds to reason that 
those items in any experience which procure our undivided 
and concentrated attention must succeed in leaving deeper 
and more permanent traces in the cortical tissues than do 
those to which we attend in the margin of consciousness, or 
than those over which we pass uninterestedly./ Although the 
undoubted tendency of the brain is to register and store up 
all the impressions which are imposed upon it, the gradual 
change of organic structures must inevitably bring it about 
that some of the less deeply engraved modifications should 
gradually become so faint and so disused as to render them 
practically inert and incompetent to participate vitally in the 
operations of memory. Temporary functional disconnections 
of brain centres that normally are connected are familiar to 
all of us. I know my friend^s middle name perfectly well, 
and yet when asked for it a moment ago I could not command 
it. Some momentary stoppage of the associated pathways in 
the cortex checked the attempt at recall. Many of the most 
serious disorders of insanity involve this kind of disconnection 
and disintegration among ideas, of course much exaggerated. 
One primary reason for our forgetfulness, therefore, is 
found in the process of attention. We must expect to forget 
a goodly part of all those items of experience to which we 



194 PSYCHOLOGY 

do not lend a vigorous and forceful attention. The only 
compensation for the lack of such concentration is found in 
the tedious process of repetition^ by means of which we may, 
with even indifferent attention^ grind gradually into our brain 
tissues any material which we desire to retain. 

Forgetting has its use, however, in freeing us from the 
incubus of much utterly valueless experience. On the whole 
we remember fairly well those things which are of practical 
importance to us. Were our minds so organised as to retain 
with impartial accuracy all the events in our experience, and 
were their total capacity to remain unchanged, we should 
find our intellectual possibilities immensely curtailed by the 
obtrusion of the insignificant and irrelevant. While we are 
occasionally incommoded by forgetting, it is undoubtedly on 
the whole an added source of efficiency in our mental opera- 
tions, that we find the unimportant elements of our knowledge 
so frequently dropping out of our memories. 

Defects in Recollection. — We obtain an interesting side- 
light upon normal memory processes by observing some of the 
common defects and abnormalities, to which it is subject. 
These are in the main exaggerations of common and familiar 
deficiencies. Thus, in one form of mental disorder every- 
thing is forgotten the moment it passes out of the range of 
perception. We observe in ourselves the counterpart of this 
case, when after reading a sentence, for instance, we find, as 
occasionally occurs to all of us, that for a few moments we are 
absolutely unable to remember anything about it, and often 
must ignominiously read it again. The opposite type of 
abnormality is met with in the form of vastly heightened sen- 
sitivity to impressions, which can then be recalled with mar- 
vellous accuracy and detail. The mathematical prodigies who 
can recall lists of a hundred or more figures after a single 
glance are cases in point. With most of us the only phe- 
nomenon closely corresponding to this is found in our ability 
to recall experiences which have been characterised by intense 



MEMORY 195 

emotional disturbance. The details of some episode in which 
we have been greatly terrified may linger in our memories with 
a vividness which rivals the distinctness of the original experi- 
ence. Again^ the mem^ory of events during a severe illness 
may be almost wholly lost. A similar obliviscence as to the 
occurrences preceding a severe accident is very frequent. 

An interesting disease of memory which furnishes striking 
confirmation of our conclusions concerning the dependence 
of memory and imagination upon the image consists in the 
loss of memory for specific forms of sensory material. Thus^ 
the visual memory may be entirely lost^ so that one cannot 
recall how objects look. Or the auditory images of words 
may be obliterated. If the imagery which is lost be of the 
varietj^ chiefly employed by the patient in his thinking, the 
result is inevitably most disastrous, reducing the victim to a 
condition bordering upon imbecility. 

Another curious disturbance of memory, with which most 
of us are familiar, is found in the experience of a feeling that 
we have previously been in the place where we are at the 
moment, or a feeling that we have previously said the words 
we are now saying, while as a matter as fact we know that we 
cannot possibly have been in the given situation, nor have 
spoken the words. Many explanations have been advanced 
for this phenomenon, which still remains, however, obscure 
as to its origin. It probably arises from different causes at 
different times, and is, perhaps, most often to be regarded as 
primarily a disturbance of emotional processes connected with 
the '' familiarity f eeling.^^ 

Lastly there are numerous abnormalities in which the 
order of remembered events and the time of their occurrence 
is distorted ; things are persistently " remembered,^^ which 
never occurred, and imaginary events are interpolated among 
real events, in a manner which baffles analysis. The counter- 
parts of these last named defects in our own every-day life 
will suggest themselves at once. 



196 PSYCHOLOGY 

When memory begins to decay under the advance of age 
there is a remarkable uniformity in the order in which certain 
kinds of knowledge disappear^ and in many cases of insanity 
a similar order of disintegration is observed. Thns^ the mem- 
ory of proper names is among the earliest of the losses^ and the 
more concrete are our ideas^, the earlier do we lose the memory 
of the words for them. Abstract ideas which depend very 
largely for their existence in our thought upon the words 
which we use to designate them are by virtue of the law of 
habit much more persistent; because the word is in this case 
bound up much more widely and intimately with our use of 
the idea. So it comes about that the memory of adjectives 
and verbs^ conjunctions and prepositions^ outlives that of most 
nouns and proper names. The objects for which nouns are 
our verbal symbols we can^ and frequently do^ think of in 
terms of imagery other than that of words^ e. g., visual^ 
tactual^ etc. Consequently the memory of these words is less 
deeply imbedded in the brain tissues^ and when this tissue 
decays such memories are the first to suffer extinction. 

Training and Development of Memory Processes. — It is 
evident that any effort to train the memory must^, if it is to 
succeed^ be based upon the employment of such principles as 
are natural and inherent in the memory process itself. 

ISTow the first of these principles involves factors which are 
largely mechanical in their nature. If the cortical basis of 
recollection is resident in the modifications of nervous tissue^ 
brought about by the impressions which pour in upon us, it is 
clear that anything, which will augment the permanency of 
these modifications, or increase their number, will in so far 
make towards the preservation of the accompanying psychical 
processes and the establishment of an efficient memory. Ex- 
perience certainly justifies this statement, for we find that 
any impressions which we can make extremely vivid are 
likely to be retained in memory for a longer time than would 
be the case if the impressions were less intense. Such vivid 



MEMORY 197 

experiences are always productive of deep-seated neural excite- 
ment^ and we may reasonably suppose that their ready reten- 
tion and recall is a sign of the depth of the nervous modifica- 
tion produced by them. Similarly^ the mere repetition of an 
impression must serve sooner or later to set up relatively 
permanent modifications in the brain tissue^ and so indirectly 
accomplish permanency of retention in the mind. These 
points we have already touched upon in our account of asso- 
ciation in the previous chapter. 

It is not often easy in a practical way to enhance the effec- 
tiveness of our memories through rendering emotionally 
vivid the impressions we wish to preserve. But so far as we 
can succeed in focalising our attention exclusively upon the 
matter in hand^ so far we do make gains in vividness^ and the 
importance for efficient memory processes of concentrated 
attention is based upon precisely this fact. Speaking from 
an empirical point of view^ it seems probable that the immense 
variation in the memory processes of different people is largely 
connected with this difference in abilitv to concentrate atten- 
tion. The habit of giving oneself with complete abandon 
to the undertaking immediately in hand is one of the most 
significant clues to the securing of an alert and accurate 
memory. 

Obviously it is simple enough to make use of repetition. 
We may either do this by giving ourselves over and over again 
the same sense stimulation, as when we repeat a name which 
we wish to remember; or we may, after the manner of the 
modern elementary schools^ present the same object to a 
number of different senses, as when we listen to the sound 
of the name, then speak it, then write i^and look at the 
written word. In such ways we can increase the depth of the 
cortical modifications, corresponding to some single sense 
department, or we can increase the number of cortical areiis 
affected bv the stimulus. In either case we evidentlv increase 
the total amount of cortical modifications, and so better the 



198 PSYCHOLOGY 

chances, not only for the permanent retention, but also for easy 
and ready recall. The more pathways there are in the brain 
leading to the stimulation of any special activity, the more 
likely is it that the given activity can be promptly aroused. 
The more ideas there are in the mind connected with any 
given idea, the more chances there are for the latter to be 
expeditiously produced when needed. 

As a matter of fact all memory processes depend in some 
measure upon this mechanical factor, but it becomes relatively 
less important as the general level of intellectual development 
rises. There are many things which children must neces- 
sarily get at first in a largely mechanical fashion. Learning 
to spell, for example, is in English largely a mechanical 
accomplishment, the available rational elements being chiefly 
conspicuous by their absence. But for adult undertakings it 
is a poor memory which responds only to mechanical incite- 
ments. Nevertheless, our modern education, with its exten- 
sive desertion of all verbatim methods of memorising, is 
undoubtedly in danger of pouring the baby out with the bath, 
of discarding a method useful in its place, even though not 
useful in all places. 

Logical Method of Memorising. — The most important 
factor in assisting the establishment of broad and sound 
mem^ory processes is of a practical and logical character. 
If we can once knit up a fact to be remembered with 
a group of other already known facts with which it is inti- 
mately related, we often come to see the entire group as 
mutually dependent upon, or explanatory of, one another. And 
thus we find we can retain in memory the total mass more 
efficiently than we could a much smaller number of items, so 
long as they remain unrelated. Such an interrelating of the 
facts has in a sense the effect of reducing the mass to a single 
mental fact. A child being taught the method of long divi- 
sion in arithmetic, or the method of determining the square 
root of a number, finds the successive steps in the process 



MEMORY 199 

extremely difficult to keep straight, so long as the procedure 
is based simply upon the memor}' of the rule^ which states 
dogmatically the order of the various operations to be per- 
formed. But as soon as the relation of the several steps to 
one another is clearly apprehended, as soon as the real nature 
of the process is understood, the verbatim memory of the 
rule becomes a superfluity, which may be forgotten with entire 
impunity. The several facts represented by the separate 
arithmetical operations all flow together as integral parts 
of a larger whole, to which they are seen to be essential. 
Thereafter, the nightmare of a forgotten rule is banished. In 
a certain sense, however, the rule can hardly be forgotten as 
long as the clear apprehension of the relations involved 
remains. For the rule is simply the verbal formulation of 
these relations. But under such conditions one^s action is 
free, intelligent, and independent, instead of blind^ and 
slavish to a mere rule-of-thumb. 

If we are asked how to go about the creation of these logical 
relations among the facts with which we wish to equip our 
memories, the answer will turn upon two points. We must 
first reflect upon the thing to be remembered, and attempt to 
give it a setting among the things with which it is most 
elosely connected. No fact ever comes to us wholly isolated 
from the rest of our knowledge, and most facts bear upon their 
faces evidence of their most intimate relations. We should 
at once, then, scrutinise each new fact that comes, and inquire 
what there is in the series of events or relations to which it 
belongs that has occasioned its existence. We should ask 
for the causes which have produced it, and the consequences 
to which it leads. If we can succeed in setting up relation- 
ships of this kind, we find that the new fact becomes a 
real part of our minds, just as in the case of the arithmetical 
rules of which we spoke a moment ago. In studying histor}^, 
for example, such a procedure will mean that we shall try to 
see any given fact, like a battle, a cession of territory, or a 



:200 PSYCHOLOGY 

piece of legislation, in the light of all the facts, politicaj, 
social, economic, geographical, etc., which may bear upon it in 
any significant way. All the important episodes in a his- 
torical period will thus be welded together, each throwing 
light upon the other in a way which makes it natural and 
easy to recall them. 

An ideally perfect mind would involve, among other things, 
a complete working out of all the relations sustained by a 
given fact to all other known facts. In actual experience, 
however, we find that our information is largely stored away 
on the compartment principle. Our knowledge of history 
seldom gets any very intimate articulation with our knowledge 
of astronomy. The events with which each deals do not 
appeal to us as intrinsically germane. Similarly, our knowl- 
edge of exact science seldom interferes in either a theoretical 
or a practical way with our knowledge of politics; and it is 
notorious that, for certain persons at least, religious knowl- 
edge and belief is kept quite distinct from every other intel- 
lectual and practical interest. 

In the second place, we should always, when possible, pro- 
ceed at once to make some actual use of the information we 
are seeking to impress upon our memories. In a certain way 
the process of reflection, which we have just been describing, 
necessitates our using the facts we are trying to memorise. 
But we have in mind here a more overt activity. We saw in 
the previous chapter that the fundamental function of our 
memory and imagination is the control which they afford 
over experience, both past and future. These activities are, 
moreover, only a sort of half-way house between the sensory 
stimulus and the motor reaction, of which we have heard so 
much. The relevant motor expression ought, therefore, to be 
allowed to occur. If all this be true, we shall have some 
theoretical foundation for the precept we have just formu- 
lated, a precept which is abundantly justified by experience. 
The sooner and oftener we can apply to some practical under- 



MEMORY 20 1 

taking a fact we wish to remember^ the better the chance of 
its remaining in our minds. Talking about it^, writing about 
it^ incorporating it into some manual constructive activity, 
if it is a fact which will permit such treatment, are all 
methods of accomplishing the desired result. A mind trained 
to concentrated logical reflection upon facts, and then further 
trained to make the earliest feasible application of them in 
practical ways, is a mind which will achieve the maximal 
efficiency in its memory processes. 

Mnemonic Systems. — Evidently these methods of training 
the powers of retention and recall suggest no easy royal road 
to success. They mean hard work. But they are the only 
methods which have any large and general significance for the 
development of the mind. Many catch-penny devices have 
been hit upon to simplify memorising, and within certain nar- 
row limits such s}^stems have a value. The mnemonic schemes 
of many so-called '' memory systems ^' illustrate the point. 
Suppose one has occasion to remember a great many unrelated 
numbers, like the street addresses of a large group of people. 
One may greatly facilitate such a feat by first memorising a 
" form,'' in which each digit is connected with a consonant, 
e, g.y the 1 with t, 2 with 1, 3 with d, etc. The next step is to 
make a word easily suggested by the person whose name is to be 
remembered, in which these letters shall occur in proper order. 
For example, Mr. Smith's number is 122, Mr. Smith is tall. 
The word tall in the number form means 122, for the vowels 
are neglected. For special purposes, such as that of our illus- 
tration, such methods can be made very useful. But as 
applied to the acquirement and retention of miscellaneous 
information they are failures. It requires more time and 
effort to learn the forms, or frames, and then make the appli- 
cations, than is required to acccomplish the same result in 
the ways we have already pointed out. 

Idiosynciacies in Form of Recall. — Many persons have 
curious individual peculiarities in their methods of recalling 



202 PSYCHOLOGY 

specific kinds of material. Thus^ certain people always think 
of the numerals by means of a kind of visual framework^ 
known as a number form. These number forms are most 
various in their shape and size and general character^ some of 
them being seen as coloured in many hues. An example of 
one of the simpler types is given in the accompanying sketch. 
(Figure 59.) A person possessing one of these forms always 



40 
30. 



20. 
10 12. 

11 



Fig. 59. In this form the numbers are seen extending upward and 
to the right from about the level of the shoulders. 

sees the numbers about which he is thinking appearing in 
their appropriate place in the framework. Other persons 
always think of the months of the year^ the days of the week^ 
and even the hours of the day^, in similar visual frameworks. 
All these devices seem to represent the effort of the mind to 
give a concrete basis to abstract relations. But they are for 
the most part acquired in early childhood in a perfectly naive 
way^ and apparently indicate native differences in the way 
different minds get hold of material to be remembered. 
" Coloured hearing/^ or chromgesthesia, of which mention 
was made in the analysis of perception, belongs to the same 
range of individual idiosyncracy. 



CHAPTER X 

THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING AND THE 
FORMATION OF CONCEPTS 

In the actual execution of the functions hitherto described 
another mental operation is involved in addition to those 
which we have thus far analysed. This operation, is contained 
in a latent fashion in each of these conscious activities with 
which we have been dealing; but it comes repeatedly to light 
as a relatively distinct mental process^ and we must accord- 
ingly submit it to examination. Indeed^, many of the acts 
which we have used as illustrations throughout our previous 
study could hardly result as they do were it not for the pres- 
ence of this mental factor^ which is known in its most devel- 
oped form as conception. The mental product which results 
from it is called a concept. In its more rudimentary form 
we may call it the consciousness of meanings and we shall 
discuss the simpler phase first. 

The Consciousness of Meaning. — On the side of function^ 
the most fundamental property of intelligence is^, perhaps^ the 
ability to recognise and employ meanings. Perception could 
never lead to the establishment of efficient habitual coordina- 
tions were we not able to apprehend the meaning of that 
which we see and hear and touch. Memory would be an 
abortive resuscitation of the past could we not recognise the 
meaning of that which we recall. Imagination in all its 
forms would be a mere mental logomachy were it not for our 
ability to understand the meaning of the images which 
occupy our minds. From beginning to end^ therefore, of our 
mental activities the presence of meaning is absolutely indis- 
pensable. 

203 



204 . PSYCHOLOGY 

That a thing means something to ns is equivalent to saying 
that it symbolises something for ns^ that we are aware of some 
of the relations which it sustains to other things. Now^ the 
mind shows itself from the very outset as a isolating activity. 
We have previously analysed one of the most elementary forms 
of this relating process, in onr account of recognition. On 
the level of perceptual and sensory activities the crude^ vague 
identifying of one experience with an antecedent one must 
represent in the infant consciousness the first outcropping in 
an explicit way of the relational factor^ the first appearance 
of the awareness of meaning. An experience which is recog- 
nised^ no matter how vaguely^ is thereby in our very manner 
of feeling it connected by us symbolically with something else 
not present. 

/ The fundamental activities of attention — i. e,y the manipu- 
lation of the sensuous material of experience^ now in an 
analytical^ discriminative way^ and now in a synthesising, 
associative wa)^ — result inevitably from the very first in the 
disclosure of innumerable relations involved among masses 
previously sensed in a rude^ inchoate manner.) Certain typical 
forms under which this analytic-synthetic development of 
relations occurs^ we have already described in the chapter on 
attention^ so that we need not repeat the matter at this 
point. We are emphasising here^, however^ as we did not do 
at that juncture^lthe fact that our noticing of differences and 
likenesses in the material presented to our senses rests upon 
our ability to note and employ the relations which these proc- 
esses of attention throw into relief. It is^ in shorty because 
the elements which we thus break out from the total mass of 
unanalysed sense experience possess meaning for us^ symbolise 
relations of one and another kind^ that we can employ them 
coherently and efficiently. Without this element of appre- 
hended meaning they would remain disconnected^ wholly irra- 
tional and inert bits of mentality; curious perhaps^ but cer- 
tainly useless. The element of meaning joins them to one 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 205 

another in a vital organic union. Probably the most funda- 
mental form of this consciousness of meaning and relation 
is our previously mentioned awareness of sameness and dif- 
ference. We know at once without tutelage of any kind 
when two experiences seem to us the same^ and when they 
seem different. Evidentl}^^ the process of recognition is 
closely related to this sense of sameness^ if it be not^, indeed^ 
found practically identical, j 

All that we have said^ thus far^ about sense perception and 
the analytic-synthetic play of attention upon such material 
is true in even more obvious fashion, when we come to speak 
of images and ideas. The idea is^ as such^ clearly a symbolic 
affair^ finding its raison d'etre not in itself^ but in that which 
it does^ that for which it stands. Evidently meaning is the 
very essence of the idea. Moreover^ we develop the meanings 
and relations among our ideas by means of just the same kind 
of attention processes as characterised our manipulation of 
sensory activities. By focussing our attention now upon one 
feature of a thought^ and now upon another, by " abstract- 
ing/^ as it is sometimes called, one phase or another, we 
analyse our ideas, compare them with one another, and so 
come to the discernment of unsuspected relations, of un- 
realised likenesses and differences. 

Psychologists are by no means agreed as to the precise 
nature of the mental activity by means of which w^e appre- 
hend relations. Certain writers make the whole achievement 
a function of attention, and disclaim the necessity for any 
further explanation. Attention is declared to be in its very 
essence a relating activity, and consequently, so far as we 
attend, we always attend in a relational way. Other 
writers maintain that just as certain moments of conscious- 
ness are cognisant of percepts or images, so certain other 
moments are cognisant of relations. Thus eTames speaks of 
our having " feelings of relation,^' e. g.y a feeling of " and,^' 
a feeling of " if/^ and a feeling of " for/^ Certain psycholo- 



206 PSYCHOLOGY 

gists of this way of thinking recognise what they call " rela- 
tional elements ^^ of consciousness comparable with sensation 
elements. 

A complete consideration of this matter would take ns 
too far afield into unsettled principles^ and the reader 
must temporarily countenance the author^s dogmatic general 
statement that the consciousness of relation is a basal factor 
in all activities of attention; that our attention is sometimes 
more^ and sometimes less^ directed toward the extant rela- 
tions than toward the things related ; but that no moment of 
cognitive consciousness is wholly lacking in the awareness 
either of relations or objects. The distinction between ob- 
jects and relations simply names two features^ the static and 
the dynamic^ of a common phenomenon. We come next to 
consider conception^ which constitutes the most overt and 
elaborate form assumed by our consciousness of meanings a 
form in which psychologists and philosophers have always 
been specially interested. 

Definition of Conception. — In our illustrations of the man- 
ner in which we consciously avail ourselves of the lessons 
taught us by experience^ we have implied that memory and 
imagination operate by summoning specific events which 
apply to the problem immediately confronting us. This is 
often the case. Thus^ I find myself puzzled as to the best 
method for getting to some very remote country town. I at- 
tempt to recall what railroads I employed to get there a year 
ago^ and I solve my problem by applying the recollection 
which comes to me of this particular achievement. I remem- 
ber that I took the A and B to junction D^ waited two hours 
and got a train on the X and Y to my destination. But 
many cases in which we apply the fruits of past experience 
are of a different order from this. Thus^ if I am purchasing 
scientific instruments from a French firm^ I must convert the 
prices in their catalogue from francs into dollars. This I 
accomplish by first bringing to mind my idea of a franc, as 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 207 

being approximately a fifth of a dollar, and then performing 
the appropriate arithmetical operation. In this ease I obvi- 
ously employ my memory in meeting my necessities; but it 
is memory in the form of reproductive imagination upon 
which I fall back, and not necessarily the memory of any 
single event or experience, as in the preceding instance. 
Again, I am interested in certain philanthropic efforts at 
social reform, and I find that the programme which I am in- 
vited to support involves belief in the hereditary nature of 
acquired characteristics. The theory at issue maintains that 
vicious traits are acquired and transmitted from parents to 
children, and mv contribution is solicited in the furtherance 
of a project to prevent the possibility of such acquirement 
and transmission. Immediately I find my mind busying 
itself with the idea of heredity, and my final action is, per- 
haps, determined by the conclusion which I am able to reach 
upon this point. 

Now in these last two cases my use of the idea of a franc 
or my idea of heredity clearly does not necessarily involve 
an immediate reference to any single and specific experience 
of francs or heredity. I might, of course, make the applica- 
tion in this way, if I chose. I might allow my mind to dwell 
on the last occasion upon which I saw a franc, and on the 
last book in which I had read of heredity. But this is by no 
means essential, and often would not occur under such cir- 
cumstances as we have supposed. Accordingly, these ideas, 
to wit, franc and heredity, are mental devices by which we 
succeed in symbolising for ourselves in the one case a num- 
ber of objects, and in the other case a number of relations, 
without the necessity of calling to mind any particular occa- 
sion upon which we have come in contact with them. We 
use these ideas fearlessly in our reasoning, and when we have 
reached our conclusions we make the application to the con- 
crete instance in hand, with entire confidence that the event 
will justify our action — and generallv it does. Such ideas 



2o8 PSYCHOLOGY 

as these are what are usually called concepts^ and taking such 
cases for the moment as reliable illustrations^ we may say, 
following the common usage, fthat conception is that mental 
operation by means of which we bring together the common 
points of our various experiences and mentally consolidate 
them into ideas; ideas which we are then able to use as 
symbols, or representatives, of these manifold items./ 

It should, perhaps, be remarked at this point that the sci- 
entific and logical concept is generally credited with a higher 
degree of exactness and precision than our definition sug- 
gests. The concepts of science, such as " metaV^ are gotten 
by a process of abstraction and comparison, the result of 
which is then expressed in the most rigorously exact verbal 
definition. Evidently, however, these are not the concepts 
of practical life. The derivation of the word concept (from 
concipere, to take in) may assist us to bear the facts in mind. 
Conception is thus, as we shall presently see in more detail, 
the great simplifier of our knowledge, the great labour-saving 
device by means of which a single idea may do the work of 
hundreds of other ideas. We apply the term '' concept ^^ to 
this idea, the term '^ conception ^^ to the mental operation in 
which the idea is produced. . 

Analysis of Conception. — If concepts are general ideas of 
the kind we have indicated it is evident that we must possess 
them in large numbers. Concepts of men and horses, houses 
and trees, hats and tables, with others of like ilk, must con- 
stitute a large part of our mental furniture. We must also 
have concepts of such things as colour, odour, and sound ; con- 
cepts of physical relations, like position, order, and time; 
concepts of moral attributes, such as good and evil, and 
dozens of other forms too numerous to mention. W^e shall 
probably get ahead most rapidly in our analysis if we take 
some special instance of conception and examine the mental 
processes involved in it. Take in this way one^s general idea 
of horse. 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 209^ 

/Concept and Image.— If I say to a group of persons, 
" Fix your attention firmly upon your idea of horse/^ a 
certain number of them are certain to find a visual image of 
a horse arising in their minds. Another group will find that 
the auditor}' -motor word-image " horse ^^ is present in their 
consciousness. Now, according to our definition, the con- 
cept of horse must not apply to any special horse, but it must 
represent all horses. How can the persons who are con- 
fronted with a visual image of some particular Bucephalus, 
or Eosinante, be said to have any concept of horses in gen- 
eral? The correct answer to this question is at once sug- 
gested by a reference to the imagery of the second group of 
persons. 

The word-image " horse ^' evidently does not pretend to 
refer to one specimen of the class more than to another. It 
is purely symbolic. When it comes into our consciousness to 
serve as a concept, it is as though we had agreed mentally 
with ourselves to accept it as a representative of the physical 
equine genus. Just as in algebra we allow the early letters 
of the alphabet to stand for certain quantities in our prob- 
lems and the later letters for certain others, making the 
appropriate practical substitutions at the completion of our 
computation, so here we symbolise certain objects to our- 
selves by means of auditory word-images. We mentally 
manipulate these images, draw certain inferences and then 
execute the substitutions, which in these cases are commonly 
overt acts. Having, for example, reflected by means of such 
concepts upon the shortcomings of horses, we decide to pur- 
chase an automobile. The concept, which is primarily 
mental^ is eventually converted into movements which are 
physical. 

Now, the case of the persons who use visual images is in 
no respect fundamentally different from that of these users 
of word imagery. The visual image is, to be sure, for better 
or for worse, a kind of copy of an individual in the class 



2IO PSYCHOLOGY 

which it is supposed to represent. At least it is often a 
recognisable copy of one of our perceptions of such an indi- 
vidual. But provided that, in our use of an image, we rec- 
ognise it as really symbolising the class^ and not an indi- 
vidual, and use it, intending it to accomplish this purpose for 
us, it is a matter of essential indifference what special kind 
of imagery we happen to employ, whether visual, or auditory, 
or motor. 

Two important points emerge from the examination of 
of this case. (1) The concept apparently involves an image; 
and, (2) whatever image we use, it is the specific meaning 
which we attach to it that constitutes it a concept. These 
two considerations make clear how it comes about that our 
thought processes seem often so different on different occa- 
sions, even when we have been thinking about the same sub- 
ject. Of course, the order of our thoughts might easily vary 
at different times, and our conclusions might vary. But how 
is it that we can think about the same things when the con- 
tent of our thought is so different? The content of our 
thought is, so far at least as concerns the knowledge process, 
always made up of imagery. To-day this may be largely 
auditory and verbal, to-morrow largely visual. But provided 
I use the different images to stand for the same meanings on 
the two days, I shall come out perfectly well and my thought 
will unquestionably have been about the same object and its 
relations. Thus it comes to pass that, although we never 
have literally the same image present twice in our conscious- 
ness, we nevertheless can think the same meanings again and 
again. 

The Generic Idea. — This seems the appropriate place to 
refer to a theory which certain eminent psychologists have 
espoused, i, e., the theory of generic ideas. The hypothesis 
upon which the theory rests is that our repeated visual per- 
ceptual experiences of tables, for example, result in producing 
a kind of composite mental photograph of tables. Such a 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 211 

composite photograph would evidently serve us whenever we 
wished to think of tables in general ; that is to say^ it would 
serve as a concept. We might use other images for the same 
purpose, conspicuously our word-images; but we might 
equally well, use this composite visual image. * i 

We shall mgke only two comments upon this theory. In 
the first place it is extremely difficult to determine w];iether 
or not we really have such composite images. It would 
obviously be very diflficult to say with entire confidence 
whether an imag'e possessing the indefiniteness of outline and 
the indistinctness of detail which a true ^composite would 
undoubtedly possess were actually a representative of in- 
numerable individual perceptions ; or simply a blurred^ vague^ 
imperfectly reinstated image of some single perception. In- 
trospectively^ that is to say^ the evidence can hardly be made 
conclusive in * support of the theqry. ' Moreover^ the brain 
processes involved in the production of such an image are 
somewhat difficult to understand when brought into connec- 
tion with our supposed ability to call up images of specific 
objects belonging to a given class^, of which we might also 
have a generic image. 

In the second place^ so far as concerns the function of 
conception^ it appears at once that such a generic image 
would belong to the class of images which we may call " copy- 
images/^ in distinction from images which purport to be 
merely symbols. All images are, of course, symbolic, so far 
as the}^ stand for something not themselves, and all images 
are copy-images so far as they serve to reinstate special forms 
of sense perception. An auditory image may be in this way 
a copy, good, bad, or indifferent, of an acoustical perception. 
A visual image ma}^ likewise simulate some visual perception. 
But the auditory image may, on the other hand, serve to 
symbolise some visual experience, and the visual image, e.jg., 
the visual image of a word, may also symbolise something of a 
non-visual character. Evidently, copy-images may be hope- 



212 PSYCHOLOGY 

lessly inadequate^ as copies, to stand for generalised relations. 
So^ to revert to our original illustration^ a visual image of a 
table would^ as a mere copy^ be an unsatisfactory representa- 
tive of the class '' table/^ for no single image could embody 
all the peculiarities of all tables. This limitation would be 
as true of the composite image, supposing it to exist, as of 
any other. It is only as such an image is employed sym- 
bolically that it serves satisfactorily as a concept of the class 
^^ table.^^ But an image of any table whatever would serve 
this purpose well enough, provided only that in our thinking 
we used it with this recognised intention. Furthermore, the 
word-image, which commonly has no resemblance whatever 
to the objects symbolised, is always available. So that taking 
account of these considerations — the doubt as to the actuality 
of the generic image, and the absence of any special fitness 
in it for service as the basis of a concept — we may safely omit 
further discussion of it. 

Conception and Language. — Our analysis of conception has 
brought out the fact that it is by means of this mental proc- 
ess that we are able to make our thoughts the vehicles of 
definite meanings. It is a familiar fact that language has 
a precisely similar function. The inference at once suggests 
itself that language may be nothing but an elaborate con- 
ceptual system, and this inference is essentially correct. 
When we communicate with others we give our ideas outward 
expression in spoken words, which serve as concepts to the 
hearer. When we are engaged in reflective thought, we shall 
often find that we are thinking in terms of word-images, and 
these word-images in such cases serve as our concepts. 
Language is thus not only the great social medium of thought 
exchange, it is also in large measure the medium of sub- 
jective thought processes. 

Some psychologists maintain that all concepts are of the 
language variety, and philosophers formerly contended that no 
reasoning would be possible without language. Both of these 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 213 

views are undoubtedly too extreme. We do sometimes reason^ 
and we may have a considerable number of concepts^ with- 
out resorting to language. ISTevertheless, the supplementary 
statement must be made that language is the great conceptual 
mechanism^ and that we depend upon it far more than upon 
any other mental material for conveying our meaning, not 
only wheib' we commune with others, but also in our own 
private thinking. 

In the use of spoken language, as well as in the use of 
verbal images when we are reflecting, the thought process is 
often so rapid that we have no distinct consciousness of the 
words as such. The stress of our interest and attention is 
upon the meaning which we are seeking, and this seems often 
to attach to the verbal activity in its entirety as a sentence, 
or a series of sentences, rather than to the isolated words. 
This fact does not, however, prejudice the truth of our 
general assertion that words serve as our most important 
conceptual symbols. 

The use of words as concepts brings readily to our notice 
certain facts which bear significantly upon our present topic. 
We defined conception as a process of forming general ideas, 
and this seems to be the most striking feature in the process. 
But if all words are essentially concepts, we must have con- 
cepts of individual objects as well as of classes; or at all 
events our method of thinking individual objects must be 
the same as our method of thinking classes. This is, indeed, 
the fact. We really have a concept of • Jupiter, as well as of 
gods; a concept of earth, as well as a concept of planets; a 
concept of this particular book, as well as of books in general. 
We have only to remember that conception is after all at 
bottom simply a mental process of designating meanings, to 
see that we can in this way indicate any meaning we wish; 
e. g.y the meaning of a single object or a dozen; the meaning 
of a mathematical relation, or of an historical relation; the 
meaning of a familiar object, or of an impossible one. In 



'■^:W» 






214 PSYCHOLOGY 

each and every case we shall have a concept^, and in most 
i'^r. cases a word^ or a word-image, will be a very convenient 

device by means of which to -think it. 

We may easily connect the process by means of which we 
gain concepts of single objects with the process by means of 
which we obtain general ideas of classes of objects, if we ob- 
serve that in both cases we have simply set a boundary line 
about certain things; in the one case the boundary contains 
one object, in the other it contains an indefinite number. 
But in both cases our mental act has been the distinguishing 
of one kind of meaning from all other kinds of meaning. 
That form of the process in which our idea refers to some 
common property, or properties, of a number of experiences 
has commonly been regarded as the true type of conception, 
because we appear in such cases to have abstracted the com- 
mon qualities of a number of events, then generalised upon 
these, and so obtained the concept, or general idea. But the 
process by which we reach a concept of a single object in- 
volves abstraction just as truly, if not so extensively, as the 
previous form of operation. To obtain a concept of London 
involves setting the idea of London off against all other ideas ; 
involves abstracting it in a perfectly definite way. In a 
sense, too, our concept of London is just as complete, just a« 
universal, as is the concept city. It applies to all of its ob- 
ject, as truly as does the concept city, and it is in a measure 
an accident, an irrelevant incident, that the total object re- 
ferred to is singular and not plural. 

The process by which we actually come into possession of 
some of our more abstract general ideas is, perhaps, more 
complicated than that by which we gain our concepts of par- 
ticulars. But the fundamental distinction between the^two 
kinds of concepts, after we have attained them, resides in the 
fact that the one emphasises points of identity and sameness 
among the various elements of our experience, the other em- 
phasises primarily points of difference. Strictly speaking^ 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 215 

then^ we may be sure that we have concepts of single objects^ 
as well as of classes of objects. We have, also, concepts of 
abstract attributes, concepts of relations of all kinds. There 
is no meaning of any sort accessible to our intelligence for 
which we may not have a concept. Indeed, in the broad 
sense of the term, every idea is a concept. 

On the whole it is, perhaps, easier to follow the older usage 
and to retain our original provisional definition of the con- 
cept as a generalising idea, and then to remember that such 
ideas sometimes generalise, so to speak, upon single objects, 
qualities, or relations, rather than to recast our definition, 
which would then vary somewhat ambiguously from that 
traditionally employed. After all, the fundamental points 
about concepts are those we have already mentioned, which 
evidently remain untouched by these questions of the number 
and character of the objects to which the concepts refer : that 
is, (1) the existence of the concept as a concrete thought, 
which we call an image; and (2) the use of this image to con- 
vey to ourselves, or to others, some definite, recognised, and 
intended meaning. 

The General Function of Conception. — The general func- 
tion and value of conception in the economy of the psycho- 
physical organism is probably so obvious as to require no 
further elaboration. It has already been described as the 
great simplifier of mental operations, the labour-saving device 
by means of which we are enabled to accomplish with single 
ideas the work which otherwise might require the cooperation 
of many. It only remains to call attention afresh to the fact 
that the mental capacity which permits this condensation of 
the meaning of many experiences into the mea'ning of a single 
image is generically one and the same with that apprehen- 
sion of meaning which renders perception intelligible, imag- 
ination significant, and memory coherent. 

Neural Process and Conception. — So far as conception in- 
i^olves imagery, it necessarily follows that it depends upon the 



2i6 PSYCHOLOGY 

reaction of those areas in the cerebral cortex with which the 
several sense organs are most immediately connected. Be- 
yond this we can say very little^ save that there seems some 
reason to believe that all the more reflective and ratiocinative 
forms of thought process involve in an important way the 
action of the Plechsig association centres. It must be 
frankly admitted that at the present moment the neural 
counterparts of these higher and more recondite phases of 
psychical activity are practically unknown. It seems clear 
that they must in large measure involve the action of the 
same areas that are concerned in perception and in simple acts 
of memory. But the nature of the differences in the form 
of the nervous action^ when the psychical act is one of pro- 
longed reasoning with the use of elaborate concepts^ as con- 
trasted with the mere accidental calling to consciousness of 
some familiar visual image^ for example^ is still altogether a 
matter of speculation and hypothesis. 

Development of Conception. — We have repeatedly seen 
reason to believe that mental life is in all essential respects 
like other life phenomena^ manifesting periods of growth, 
maturity, and decay. This view leads us to expect a gradual 
unfolding of the typical phases of consciousness, which are 
at the outset latent in the infant mind, rather than the sudden 
appearance at different times of totally new kinds of mental 
operation. The development of conception is no exception 
to this rule. 

The appearance of a rude type of recognition, which we 
have discovered to be the prototype of the developed act of 
conception, may be detected very early in infant consciousness. 
But it is exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, confi- 
dently to designate the precise moment at which the first 
general idea is elaborated. The facts suggest that babies 
generalise in a rough way upon their experiences at a very 
early date. Or, if they do not positively generalise, they 
accomplish the same result negatively, by failing adequately 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 217 

to distinguish and analyse. Infants a few days old, if given 
some distasteful medicine^, will often refuse utterly for hours 
afterward to take anything into their mouths^, and for in- 
definite periods will reject the medicine itself. It would 
probably be absurd^, however^ to suppose that the baby has at 
this time a general idea of medicine^ although one might with 
propriety speak of a generalised motor reaction. Nor would 
such a description detract from the genuinely conceptional 
nature of the reaction^ for the concepts of adults may also be 
considered as forms of generalised motor activity. As soon as 
language appears^ from the fourteenth to the twenty-eighth 
months the formation and growth of general ideas is im- 
mensely augmented. But our previous assertion about the 
connection of concepts and language holds true here^, and it 
is certainly reasonable to suppose that crude general ideas 
antedate the use of adult language forms. In this connection 
one must not forget that gestures — for example^ smiling^ 
scowling, clenching the hands, etc. — are often vehicles for 
conveying conceptual relations, and that the inarticulate cries 
and vocalisations of various kinds which precede the intel- 
ligent use of words may also be regarded as primitive lin- 
guistic concepts. Thus, a certain sound means water, another 
means milk, and so on. The sign language of deaf-mutes 
affords admirable illustrations of the same type of expression 
for concepts. 

Formation of New Concepts. — Turning to the development 
of our concepts after the period of infancy, we find that their 
transformation proceeds along two main lines, which we can 
best discuss separately: first, by the creation of essentially 
new concepts ; and second, by the enrichment of old concepts 
with new material. An important factor in the formation 
of our concepts, i, e., the process of judgment, cannot be dis- 
cussed until the next chapter, where we shall, however, revert 
briefly to the conceptual activity. 

We have already seen that concepts are primarily based 



2i8 PSYCHOLOGY 

upon perceptual processes^ just as memory and imagination 
are. We have also observed the way in which every percep- 
tion^ even the freshest and most novels involves past experi- 
ence. We shall^ therefore^ be safe in assuming that what we 
call new concepts are only partially new^ and really contain 
a measure of familiar material. For example^ when a boy 
first studies algebra he is introduced to the concept of the 
equation^ to the concept of symbolism in quantitative proced- 
ure^ to the concept of negative numbers^ etc. Now^ we speak 
of such concepts as being new to the boy^ and so in a sense 
they are. But we must also recognise the fact that they are 
not wholly new, and that if they were they would be entirely 
unintelligible to him. The significance of the equation as a 
mathematical tool could never be grasped were the boy's 
previous experience incapable of furnishing him the notion of 
equality as a starting point. So, too, the concept of negative 
numbers could never be mastered were there not the founda- 
tion of knowledge about positive numbers to build upon. 
Granted the rudimentary idea, or concept, of equality, and 
the concept of the equation becomes a possible intellectual 
possession. Moreover, once it is gained it takes its place as 
a perfectly distinct concept, related to the concept of equality 
and to many other concepts, but still mentally an independent 
idea. 

What the boy really does in getting hold of such a new con- 
cept as that of negative numbers is to compare the new notion 
with his old idea of number, to remark their likenesses and 
differences, and to throw into the foreground, by this process 
of discrimination, the most practically important features of 
the new case. The result of this procedure is the boy^s first 
concept of negative numbers. These abstracting, discriminat- 
ing, and comparing activities of attention are present in vary- 
ing degree in all self-directed attainments of new concepts. 

This form of development of ideas displays in an unmis- 
takable manner the essentially organic nature of our knowl- 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 



219 



edge. Each idea springs out of other ideas, which have 
gone before, and in turn gives birth to new successors. The 
connection is not merely one of sequence in time; it is a 
connection of the genuinely developmental type, in which 
one idea is, as it were, unfolded from, and given off by, an- 
other. Ultimately, therefore, each of our ideas is related, 
however remotely, to all the others, a fact which constitutes 
one illustration of the so-called doctrine of the total rela- 
tivity of knowledge. Speaking metaphorically, but within 
the bounds of literal fact, we may say that the great tree of 
knowledge springs from the seed of that vague consciousness 
with which the infant's life begins. Differentiation followed 
by fresh synthesis, old experiences blended with new ones, 
each modifying the other — such is the course of progress. 

The natural incentive to the development of these new 
concepts is to be found in the needs of the individual. We 
find ourselves confronted with a situation in which our old 
ideas are inadequate and unsatisfactory. We cannot get 
ahead. We are thwarted, and find ourselves obliged to set 
about the securing of new notions to meet the case. The 
child whose toy refuses to go resorts first to the familiar idea 
of assistance from parent or nurse. Some day this assistance 
fails and the child, thrown back upon his own resources, may 
hit upon the idea of helping himself. The same sort of thing 
characterises adult procedure. Thus, the frequent disaster 
arising from surgical operations under the old ideas of clin- 
ical cleanliness led to the examination of tissues affected by 
such operations, and in the light of the modern knowledge of 
bacterial life a wholly new and more drastic concept of 
surgical cleanliness has arisen, resulting in an astonishing 
diminution in the fatal consequences of operative surgery. 

When we seek illustrations in the range of our formal 
educational procedure it is not always so clear that the new 
concepts are gained in response to felt deficiencies in our 
existing stock of ideas. The boy confronted with the con- 



"2^0 PSYCHOLOGY 

cepts peculiar to the study of Greek and Latin and mathe- 
matics would often forego the attainment of them with 
definite complacency^ not to say enthusiasm. It is evident 
that if he is to master these subjects he must first secure 
these concepts ; but it would sometimes be a sad perversion of 
the facts to say that the concepts are obtained as the result 
of a need fdt by the boy. A child caught thus in the educa- 
tional machinery is often whirled about among needs^ for 
which the ideas held out do indeed afford relief^ but they are 
not always needs which the child himself feels. One has, 
however, only to glance at the history of any specific educa- 
tional system to recognise that in its inception each system 
was intended to fit its pupils for some special form of life, 
and in this vocation the studies offered really had a place. 
The adult has here attempted to anticipate in the most ef- 
fectual way the needs which at some time the child is sure to 
feel. Fortunate the child who is brought up in a system 
which affords him ideas fitted to his own day and generation, 
instead of those appropriate to the times and conditions of 
his great-grandparents. 

The concepts which we get in the educational system may 
not always, then, reflect needs and difficulties of which we 
personally are as yet cognisant. But the system itself is an 
effort to epitomise the satisfaction of just those needs which 
in the human experience of the leaders of our race have been 
felt to be most imperative. Our general statement remains, 
therefore, essentially true, i. e., that our new concepts arise 
out of the inadequacy of those already on hand to cope with 
the conditions in which we find ourselves. 

The Petrifying of Concepts. — This doctrine gets a depress- 
ing confirmation by observation of persons who have once 
settled down into a fixed and narrow vocation in which 
radically new demands are rarely encountered, and when 
encountered, are found hopelessly baffling. In a degree this 
condition overtakes everybody as middle age passes by. The 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 221 

result is too often the pathetic person of inflexible sympathies^ 
circumscribed and dogmatic ideas — ^the person who is sure the 
world is going to the bow-wows, and who knows it was all 
much better in his own day. Such persons have ceased to get 
new concepts, and the old ones are inadequate. 

Enrichment of Old Concepts. — Hand in hand with this ap- 
pearance of relatively new concepts goes the development of 
our old ideas. This development might be described as 
having two directions, but in reality the two are one. Our 
concepts seem sometimes to widen and sometimes to grow 
more narrow. Thus, we learn more every day about men 
and women, and so we may truly enough say that our con- 
cept of humanity broadens as our experience becomes richer. 
On the other hand our concept of science may, as our knowl- 
edge increases, become more and more restricted in its scope. 
Many branches of inquiry which would originally have found 
place under this heading may, in our maturer judgment, be- 
long elsewhere. Both these processes are, however, simply 
different modes of reaching an identical result, i. e., the 
clarification of the precise meaning of our concepts. 

Every concept is in a sense a working hypothesis, a tenta- 
tive manner of thinking about things, and is subject at need 
to revision. Our idea of right is gained in childhood from 
parental percepts. If we do not stagnate morally, a time 
must come when we are obliged to reconstruct and modify this 
childish concept. As our knowledge becomes broader this 
process of reconstruction may go on indefinitely. This does 
not mean that we necessarily discard wholly the idea of right 
which we received from our parents. Far from it ! It 
means that this idea was necessarily a child^s idea, and so 
inadequate to certain adult experiences; and it becomes 
necessary to develop it in accordance with the new needs. ,^^ 

The incentive to this form of growth in our concepts is, then, 
precisely identical with that which led to our getting what we 
call new concepts. It is clear that in a certain sense the 



V 



222 PSYCHOLOGY 

process we have just described really gives us new concepts. 
But practically we think of the new idea as a modification 
of the old one. 

The doctrine is sometimes held that our concepts are un- 
changeable. The difference betv/een this view and the one 
we have been presenting is largely verbal. In a certain sense 
our concepts are unalterable. To use our last illustration 
again^ I can remember what I meant by my childish idea of 
right, and can recall the idea when I will. In this sense the 
concept does remain a permanent part of my mental equip- 
ment;, undergoing only such changes as may be due to fail- 
ing memory. But practically my adult concept which I call 
my idea of right is^ as has just been shown, very different 
from this childish one out of which it has grown. 



CHAPTER XI 

JUDGMENT AND THE ELEMENTS OF REASONING 

The mental operations which we have thus far described 
find the culmination of their development in the process 
which we know as reasoning. This does not mean that 
reasoning is a totally new form of psychical activity, to which 
the others are subordinate. It means that in the process of 
reasoning the full implication and significance of these other 
conscious processes come clearly to light, while in it they 
reach their completed evolution. Moreover, it does not mean 
that reasoning is a form of process which appears only after 
the other processes which we have studied have been devel- 
oped. Rudimentary reasoning is present from the beginning 
of conscious life in the human being, and is clearly involved 
in each of the processes we have thus far analysed. But in 
the gradual unfolding of consciousness, by means of which 
it comes to maturity, we meet more and more complex in- 
stances of reasoning, and at each stage we find it involving 
perception and memory and imagination and conception. 
At each stage it affords the best index of the real value of 
these other processes, and in its most elaborate forms it 
brings out in the clearest possible way their real function. 
We shall revert to these points more fully later in the 
chapter. A technical definition of reasoning may well await 
our examination of certain of the facts upon which such a 
definition must be based. Meantime, we may define it 
broadly and provisionally as purposive thinking^ that is to 
say, thinking carried on in the interests of some plan which 
we wish to execute, some problem which we wish to solve, 
some difficulty which we wish to surmount. 

223 



224 PSYCHOLOGY 

Analysis of Reasoning. — We are often told that the great 
educational value of mathematics lies in teaching us to reason 
correctly. Some hardy iconoclasts have ventured to question 
the extent of the value to be gained from the subject on 
this scorC;, but at least it seems to be universally admitted 
that mathematics involves reasonings, and we may^ therefore^ 
judiciously seek from it an illustration of the reasoning 
process for our examination. Take the following arith- 
metical problem, reminiscent of the perplexities of the days of 
our academic youth. If thirteen melons cost a dollar and 
forty-three cents, how much should twenty melons cost? 
Most of us would solve this problem by finding the cost of 
one melon through the division of one hundred and forty-three 
by thirteen; and then the cost of twenty melons by multiply- 
ing this quotient by twenty. When the problem is distinctly 
understood, there instantly comes into our minds, through 
our memory habits, the idea '' cost of one melon ^^ ; and 
straightway we find ourselves executing the relatively hab- 
itual process of division. This accom^plished, our minds im- 
mediately turn — again by virtue of our mental habits — to 
the multiplication of our quotient by twenty. The reason- 
ing in a case of this kind, therefore, seems to involve the 
selection of certain ideas out of all those supplied us by the 
problem, the manipulation of these ideas in accordance with 
previously acquired habits, and the attainment of the solution 
by a proper combination of these two processes. So far as 
there is any originality in such a procedure, we must look 
for it in the skill and expedition with which we hit upon the 
right idea to work with, and the accuracy and promptness 
with which we apply to it the fruits of our previously 
acquired knowledge. 

Should we examine a little more closely the nature of 
these ideas which we employ we should find that they are 
clearly concepts. Thus, melon is a concept, cost is a concept, 
cent is a concept, etc. Were we to give verbal form to the 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 225 

several steps in the process^ which we do not always do^ we 
should find that we had such expressions before us as this: 
one melon eleven cents — eleven times twenty is two hundred 
and twenty^ is two dollars and twenty cents. In other wordS;, 
we put the concepts together in a form which the psychol- 
ogists call a judgment. A judgment^ when put into words^ is 
what logicians call a proposition^ and what grammarians call 
a sentence. It accordingly appears that a process of reason- 
ing, such as that of our illustration, contains concepts com- 
bined in the form of judgments. We have already examined 
the nature of the concept, but judgment is a new mental 
operation to which we must now devote our attention. 

Analysis of Judgment. — It will facilitate our investigation 
to begin with those cases of judgment to which we give verbal 
expression, for they can readily be secured in a concrete form, 
stripped of the introspective difficulties which beset the 
analysis of other varieties. It will suggest itself at once that, 
if the judgment is in any measure equivalent to a proposi- 
tion or a sentence, we ought to gain assistance, in the distin- 
guishing of its principal forms, from the classifications of the 
grammarians and logicians. Although the exact meaning of 
mental judgments and linguistic propositions are not always 
identical, even where they have the same verbal form, never- 
theless many of these classifications are undoubtedly avail- 
able; and we may expect to find assertative judgments, hypo- 
thetical judgments, disjunctive judgments, and so on. In the 
judgment, ^^the book is heavj^,^^ we have the concept heavy 
united to the concept book. On the other hand, in the judg- 
ment, ^^the book is not heavy ,^^ we have the concepts appar- 
ently sundered from one another. Even in this case, how- 
ever, it is obvious that in the mental state, of which the judg- 
ment is the expression, the two ideas were together, as truly 
as in the first case. It is only so far as the ideas refer to 
objects distinct from themselves that their separation is 
asserted. In the judgment, " if the storm is severe, the ship 



226 PSYCHOLOGY 

will be imperilled/^ we have two pairs of concepts iiiiited to 
one another, t. e.^ " storm ^^ and " severe/^ '' ship ^^ and ^^ im- 
perilled/^ Like the preceding cases, the ideas are brought 
together mentally, bnt the objective union of one pair is made 
dependent upon the objective union of the other. The judg- 
ment, " Mr. Smith is either a democrat or a popnlist,^^ gives 
us a typical instance of disjunction. The concept '' Smith ^^ 
is conjoined mentally with the two concepts " democrat ^^ and 
^^ populist,^^ and the objective union is asserted of one or the 
other.* In all these verbal precipitates of judgment we 
seem then to have two or more ideas mentally united in mean- 
ings which may imply either the postulated union or sever- 
ance of the objects to which they refer. 

Analytic-Synthetic Judgments. — Availing ourselves of a 
further classification which the logicians employ, we may 
speak of analytic or of synthetic judgments. " This wood is 
white,^^ is an instance of the analytic judgment. It exhibits a 
property of the wood which is inherent in it, and may, there- 
fore, be said to involve an analysis of the concept, '^ this wood.'^ 
^^ Wood is a combustible/' is a synthetic judgment, because it 
adds to the idea of wood the idea of combustibility, which is not 
immediately, nor obviously, implied in it. We shall presently 
see reason to believe that synthetic and analytic judgments are 
psychologically really one, and for our present purpose we can 
at least see that they involve, like all the other cases which we 
have examined, the mental synthesis of concepts, whose objec- 
tive union^ or separateness, we mentally predicate. 

* The so-caHed " impersonal judgment " has caused logicians 
much controversy. " It rains " is an instance of it. At first 
sight it appears as though such a judgment could hardly be said 
to involve a synthesis of two ideas, or concepts, at all. On the 
whole it seems probable that this form of judgment represents a 
primitive type of the judging activity, out of which possibly our 
more elaborate forms have developed. If this be true, the nature 
of the impersonal judgment will become evident as we go on with 
our analysis. 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 227 

Genetic Relation of Concept and Judgment. — Having dis- 
covered in these verbal judgments the constant presence of 
concepts^ it v^ill be well to revert to our account of their de- 
velopment^ and detect^ if possible^, the relation of the 
judgment to this process. 

We observed^ vrhen stiid}dng the origin of concepts^, that 
they spring out of the mind^s effort to mark off^ and render 
distinct, the various meanings with which it has to deal. We 
saw that in the course of experience these meanings grow in 
definiteness and scope, so that a concept which meets the 
demands of childhood often needs for the purposes of the 
adult either to be reconstructed or else discarded in favour of 
some more adequate notion. If we examine once again some 
specific instances of the attainment and development of a 
concept, we shall come upon an instructive fact concerning 
the relation between conception and judgment. If we con- 
sider in this way our concept badness, we find that it has its 
origin in our very early childish experiences in connection 
with certain acts for which we were reproved or punished. 
The notion of parental disapproval quickly became attached 
to such acts, and, as soon as language could be comprehended 
at all, we remarked that they received the common appella- 
tion, ^^ bad.^^ Unless our account of the memory processes be 
fundamentally defective, the thought of such deeds should 
call to mind, in however vague a way, the undesirable conse- 
quences which had previously accompanied them. At this 
early stage, then, we must in a nebulous sort of fashion have 
brought together in our minds the idea of the act and the 
idea of its effects in the nature of punishment. 

Such a mental act obviously has implicit in it the 
beginnings of judgment, i. e., the assertion of a relation 
ietween two mental elements. When, with increasing age, 
language finally comes to our assistance, we are easily able 
to apprehend the usage of our elders, and we straightway 
apply the term ^^ bad ^' to all acts of a certain character. At 



228 PSYCHOLOGY 

this point the idea of badness is for iis s3monyTQons with a 
certain list of acts with which various kinds of adult dis- 
approval are connected. When we are inspired to perform 
such an act^ we promptly execute mentally the judging proc- 
ess quivalent to labelling the act bad. Were we to put our 
thought into words^ we should undoubtedly have a verbal 
judgment. All of which seems to indicate with no great 
uncertainty that the origin of such a concept as " badness ^^ 
is to be found in mental processes which are in their nascent 
stages crude^ vague^ undeveloped judgments^ involving a 
rudimentary recognition of relations between certain more 
or less distinct portions of our experience. We get at these 
elements of experience mentally by means of rudely distin- 
guished ideas — in the case of our illustration the idea of 
the act and the idea of its consequences. Such concepts 
as this, i. e.^ badness, owe their creation, then, to elab- 
orations of already attained ideas in a primitive form of 
judgment. 

Moreover, if we turn our attention to the subsequent history 
of such a concept as badness, we find unmistakably, as was 
pointed out in the last chapter, that its develpoment is accom- 
plished by means of new judgm^ents which are brought to bear 
upon it from time to time. In childhood, for example, bad- 
ness may for a long time mean, among other things, disobedi- 
ence. There comes a time, however, when possibly disobedi- 
ence seems in some crisis the only alternative to lying. We 
have also identified lying with badness. What shall we do? 
Well, whatever we do, we have at least laid the foundation for 
the reconstructive development of our concept of badness, by 
noting that disobedience may sometimes be necessary to the 
attainment of the maximal possible good. We necessarily 
make judgments about badness in such a case, and the trans- 
formation, whether shrinkage or enlargement, which the con- 
cept undergoes, is a direct expression of the effect of judg- 
ment. The development as well as the origin of such 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 2^9 

concepts is, accordingly^ most intimately bound up with the 
judging operation. 

Before generalising upon this single case, it would, of 
course, be desirable to examine every variety of concept in 
order to see if any of them originate independently of such 
judgments. This is, however, evidently impracticable, and 
we shall have to fall back upon the consideration that inas- 
much as the concept is always a mental recognition, or desig- 
nation, of specific meaning, there must, in the nature of the 
case, sooner or later be a judging process involved in it; for 
judgment is neither more nor less than the overt recognition 
and expression of just such relations as are embodied in the 
concept. The concept ^^ gravity,^^ for example, implies certain 
definite relations which we can only express in detail by 
means of judgments, and so with all other concepts. We 
shall accept this account of the relation between the two 
processes, then, with a large measure of confidence in its 
correctness. 

Order of Development of the Cognitive Processes. — This 
analysis inevitably raises the question as to what is the most 
primitive and fundamental mode of conscious operation to 
which we have thus far given attention. We have shown that 
the conceptual element is present in perception, and we had 
already explained that in a genetic sense perception evidently 
antedates memory and imagination. InTow we seem to find 
judgment as a precursor of the concept. What is the real 
order of development among these activities? 

To secure a correct impression regarding the genetic rela- 
tions among these processes^ we must resort to an analogy 
which we have employed on a number of previous occasions. 
The development of an organism of any kind is accomplished 
by means of the gradual unfolding of structures, and the 
gradual evolution of functions, out of undifferentiated 
matrices. The fertilised ovum contains in a way, implicit 
within itself, all the potentialities of the fully developed 



230 PSYCHOLOGY 

organism which may subsequently grow out of it. But no 
inspection which we could make of the ovum would enable 
us to detect these invisible members. Step by step the homo- 
geneity of the ovum gives way to more and more complex 
conditions^ until finally the process of assimilation and dif- 
ferentiation issues in the full-grown organism. At each step 
in the progress toward maturity the several anatomical organs 
and the various physiological functions are moving together 
toward completion. At one stage one group of these ele- 
ments may seem further advanced than others^ but there is 
nevertheless mutual dependence of each of the factors upon 
the other, and each member of the several groups is from 
the beginning represented by some forerunner^ however crude. 

So it is with the psychical operations which we have been 
studying. Judgment^ conception^ memory^ imagination^ per- 
ception^ and still other processes^ which we have not as yet 
examined^ are in one form or another present in conscious- 
ness from the very first; and each process^ which we have 
described and analysed under one or another of these names, 
really involves each of the other processes. At certain mo- 
ments consciousness presents itself as dominantly engaged in 
the way we call perception, sometimes in the way we call 
imagination. But each operation involves the other^ and it 
would hardly be possible to point to a stage in development 
where one was obviously present and the other obviously and 
altogether absent. 

Judging is in a precisely similar situation as regards its 
primary or secondary nature^, its early or late appearance^ in 
the history of the individual consciousness. We may^ per- 
haps, make this point clear most easily by examining the case 
of perception which we have seen to be present past all rea- 
sonable question from the earliest moments of waking life. 
When we perceive a familiar object, say a chair, the mental 
operation of cognising the object is essentially equivalent to 
the assertion, " this is a chair,^^ or " this is a thing to sit 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 231 

upon." Triie^ we rarely put the conclusion in this explicit 
form to ourselves. Nevertheless^ the mental process is pre- 
cisely akin to the proposition^ and in our first intelligent 
application of names to objects it is exactly of this character. 
Indeed^ the first childish exclamations^ which represent in 
however amorphous a fashion the precursors of language^ are 
of this type. The whole mass of feelings which such early 
infantile vocalisation may serve to indicate is often ex- 
tremely complex and extended. One sound may designate an 
experience^ which as adults we should describe as " this-is- 
the-sound-of -the-coming-to-take-me-up-and-f eed-me -which - is- 
a-delightful-experience." Another sound may represent 
judgments in the form of a command^ such as ^^ I-am-hot- 
and-I-wish-vou-would-take-the-blanket-off.^^ 

Let it not be supposed that we mean to credit the half- 
inarticulate infant with the mental recognition of all the dif- 
ferentiated elements in these cases to which we as adults are 
sensitive. Quite the contrary. It seems probable^ as we 
saw, when we discussed attention and discrimination^ that the 
early experiences of the baby are extremely vague^ not in the 
sense of being positively confused^ as adults sometimes are 
when embarrassed^ but in the negative sense^ in which 
vagueness means absence of distinct^ well-recognised mental 
control. These primitive judgments are rudimentary expres- 
sions of just such reactions upon those indefinite, undifferen- 
tiated features of infant consciousness as we find appearing 
in ourselves when we make judgments about our more highly 
elaborated and more definitely discriminated ideas. The 
earliest rudimentarj^ processes of judgment consequently 
involve the manipulation of unanalj^sed masses of experience, 
which we subsequently discover, through processes of disso- 
ciation, comparison, and judgment, to be extremely complex. 
It is quite possible, as has been already suggested, that the 
impersonal judgments, such as '^ it thunders," represent sur- 
vivals of assertions of just this primitive kind about total 



232 PSYCHOLOGY 

experiences whose elements are only vaguely and imperfectly 
analysed. 

Judgment as the Primitive Cognitive Activity. — It seems 
highly probable from the foregoing that in its original form 
all judgment is essentially a reaction upon immediately 
present perceptual experiences. Undoubtedty^ rude judg- 
ments in which memory and imagination play leading roles 
may occur at a very early period. But it seems quite certain 
that their most important functions must come somewhat later 
than the periods during which perceptual judgments are first 
clearly in evidence. Moreover^ inasmuch as these rudi- 
mentary forms of judgment appear to involve as their most 
characteristic features^ like the highly developed ideational 
judgments^ the recognition^ or assertion^ of relations^ it seems 
impossible to deny that the simplest case of perception^ with 
its connection of a first sensory stimulation with something 
already familiar^ is also implicitly^ at leasts of the same genus 
as the judgment. 

When we ask^ then, which of the several mental processes 
we have described is most fundamental, we must reply that 
if the question applies to the order of appearance in conscious- 
ness no single one enjoys this preeminence. They develop 
together, and are all, in one way or another, present from the 
outset of conscious life. If the question means, however, 
which process exhibits most conspicuously the whole scope of 
cognitive conscious capacities, then we must probably reply, 
judgment; because in this activity the detection and manip- 
ulation of relations is possibly most obvious, and this 
undoubtedly is the great mental achievement in the building 
up of knowledge and the controlling of conduct, to which ulti- 
mately all these processes revert for their final significance. 
In this sense, therefore, judgment is the most fundamental 
operation of consciousness on the cognitive side. 

Before leaving this account of judgment and passing on to 
consider reasoning, a further word should be said of the fact 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 233 

which came to our notice a moment ago in speaking of the 
judging process in the primitive consciousness of infant life. 
Judgment undoubtedly begins with a process of disentangling 
the various constituents of some large and relatively vague 
experience. The operation which we described in an earlier 
chapter as discrimination is commonly identical with these 
rudimentary judging processes. Now in so far as judgment 
does really deal in this way wdth the analysis of ideational (or 
perceptual) experiences^ which are to start with undifferenti- 
ated wholes^ it would seem to be necessary to regard it as a 
process in which relatively vague ideas are resolved into their 
definite constituents^ rather than as a process in which already 
distinct and separate ideas are brought together. It will be 
remembered that our previous description of it is more closely 
allied to the second of these views about it. As a matter of 
fact both views are correct in the conception which they 
emphasise^ and the disparity between them is only apparent. 
Just as we saw was the case in the differentiation of the 
various sensations out of the relatively homogeneous con- 
scious continuum with which life probably begins^ so the 
materials upon which our judgments are based and with 
which they deal are all necessarily elements of our own per- 
sonal experience. So far as we predicate anything of an 
object^ — for example^ '' iron is a metal/^ — it may be said that 
we have simply dissected the idea of iron (our concept), which 
was already present to our minds, instead of adding to it some 
new idea, i, e,^ metal. Taken literally, this is a true state- 
ment of the facts. It is only false by virtue of that which it 
fails to add. The concept of iron is a concept distinguished 
from that of metal. We not only may bring these two con- 
cepts together mentally, but we frequently do unite just such 
concepts in the form of judgments, which are practically valu- 
able to us in enabling us to emphasise such phases of our 
thoughts as are momentarily important for us. Judgment 
is, then, in its most explicit forms, undoubtedly a process in 



^34 PSYCHOLOGY 

which we synthesise concepts in the course of noting and 
asserting relations. Yet the concepts which we thus unite are 
with equal certainty already elements of our stock of knowl- 
edge^ and so we may seem to have m^ade no gain by the judg- 
ment;, much less to have added a new idea to some old idea. 
But the gain is often very real^ because the synthesis may 
bring out relations of which previously we were not clearly 
cognisant. From this point of view judgment is not so much 
a matter of creating wholly new mental material as it is a 
matter of ordering our mental equipment in the most efficient 
possible manner. 



CHAPTEE XII 
THE FOEMS AlfD PUISTCTIOI^S OF EEASOmNG^ 

Judgment and Reasoning. — From the illustration with 
which we set out in the last chapter in our first rough analysis 
of reasonings we observed that the solution of the problem 
with which we were hjrpothetically engaged involved a 
series of judgments. We therefore turned aside to examine 
more closely into the nature of judgment; and we have dis- 
covered that this is an analytic-synthetic process^ in which 
concepts are employed and elaborated. As the great majority 
of our important concepts have a linguistic basis^ it goes with- 
out saying that reasoning makes almost constant use of lan- 
guage. It now remains to survey somewhat more fully the 
manner in which our judgments are combined to form the 
various types of reasoning. We proposed as a provisional 
definition of reasonings at the beginning of the last chapter, 
the phrase "purposive thinking/^ meaning by this to desig- 
nate any thought process in which we were thinking toward 
some ends attempting to overcome some difficultys or solve 
some problem. If we turn to certain familiar instances of 
this sort of thing in every-day life, we shall at once obtain an 
impression of the fashion in which we make use of our judg- 
ing activities. 

Practical Reasoning. — Suppose that we are about to make 
a long journey which necessitates a choice from among 
a number of possible routes. This is a case of the genuinely 
problematic kind. It requires reflections a weighing of pros 
and conSs and the giving of a final decision in favour of one or 
another of the several alternatives. In such a case the pro- 

235 



236 PSYCHOLOGY 

cedure of most of us is after this order. We think of one 
route as being picturesque and wholly novel^ but also as being 
expensive. We think of another as less interesting, but also 
as less expensive. A third is, we discover, the most expedi- 
tious, but also the most costly of the three. We find ourselves 
confronted, then, with the necessity of choosing with regard 
to the relative merits of cheapness, beauty, and speed. We 
proceed to consider these points in the light of all our inter- 
ests, and the decision more or less makes itself. We find, for 
instance, that we must, under the circumstances, select the 
cheapest route. 

ISTow, this process is evidently made up of a number of 
judgments, in which we have employed various conceptions of 
the routes and the consequences connected with their choice. 
Obviously, also, we have made constant use of the machinery 
of association by means of which the various connected ideas 
have called one another into the mind. Our conclusion is 
seemingly the outcome of a series of judgments, whose number 
may be wholly indeterminate, and whose order is far from 
systematic. Nevertheless, the process results in a solution 
of the problem, the conclusion is essentially a reasoned one, 
and the operation is altogether typical of the fashion in which 
we actually deal with the practical problems of common 
experience. 

When we look at the successive steps a little more closely, 
we see that such judgments brought into the foreground some 
aspect of the general problem which assisted us in viewing 
the situation in its entirety. Thus, the idea of cost as less 
by one route than by the others proved in our final estimate 
to be of fundamental significance. But we could not isolate 
this element of the problem and conceive it aright until we 
had compared the routes with one another, and considered all 
the expenses involved in each. Only then were we in a posi- 
tion to assert which route was cheapest. This crucial judg- 
ment issued immediately from our comparison of the several 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 237 

routes with one another^ but the process of comparison was 
itself an indispensable step in reaching our final choice. We 
considered speed in a similar manner, and found that all the 
routes were satisfactory enough in this particular. 

Finally, the consideration of beauty and the pleasure of 
the journey is canvassed in like manner, and we find from the 
ideas which come into our minds that one route is markedly 
preferable. This factor of beauty remains, then, to settle 
accounts with the item of economy. The ultimate decision 
involves our taking stock of our financial status, past, present, 
and future, and the issue is settled on the basis of the story 
told by this set of facts. Each step in the process has been 
relatively simple, and entirely intelligible. We have allowed 
certain ideas, which we have abstracted in our mode of con- 
ceiving the problem, to take up by association other ideas re- 
lated to them in ways which bear upon the case in hand ; and 
from the judgments which we pass upon the meanings of these 
ideas our choice is made and our volition determined. 
Our effectiveness as practical reasoners (or theoretical 
reasoners, either, for that matter) wall depend then, first, 
upon the skill with which we succeed in conceiving the prob- 
lem correctly, and second, upon the speed and accuracy with 
which this conception suggests to our reasoning processes the 
recall of the special ideas appropriate to the case at hand. 

The whole series of judgments employed could finally be 
reduced to two or three (or possibly to one), which, as the 
outcome of our tentative weighing of now this claim and now 
that, have proved to be finally significant. In a sense the 
judgm^ents have all been connected and related. They have 
all arisen in response to our persistent dwelling upon the prob- 
lem before us. But a few of them depend upon one another 
in an even more intimate way, and these are the permanently 
significant ones. For example : '^ Two routes cost more 
than $1000 ; 1 cannot afford to pay more than $800 ; I must 
therefore patronize the third route/^ 



238 PSYCHOLOGY 

Value of Association by Similarity. — In so far as reasoning 
involves associative processes^ it is clear that association by 
similarity will be of highest importance^ especially in the 
more abstruse forms of thinking. The more complex types 
of problem with which we have to cope often require for 
their successful solution the application of facts and prin- 
ciples which have no connection with the matter in hand^ 
save some fragile bond of similarity. The detection of these 
delicate links of relation is an achievement which charac- 
terises in high degree only the most remarkable minds^ the 
geniuses. The rest of us find;, to be sure^, that we outstrip the 
brutes enormously in our capacity to employ this form of 
associative nexus. But the great revoluntionary achieve- 
ments in human reason have to wait upon the man and the 
hour, and when they are compassed they generally reveal a 
marvellous manifestation of the capacity for discerning simi- 
larity. Newton^s formulation of the law of gravity may 
serve to illustrate the point. 

Reasoning and the Syllogism. — Now, to many persons the 
process of selecting a route for a journey will seem a mislead- 
ing illustration of reasoning, because it will not appear to be 
sufficiently abstruse, nor sufficiently orderly and inevitable. 
It will represent what they may prefer to call " practical think- 
ing,^^ as we have done, although we have not meant by the use 
of the term to deny to the process the essential character of 
reasoning. We shall be told that when we really reason we 
perform such mental deeds as the following syllogism exhibits : 

All men are mortal ; 
Socrates is a man, 

Therefore 
Socrates is mortal. 

Here we are assured we have new facts attained by reason, 
here is perfect order and symmetry, instead of miscellaneous 
groping for correct conclusions, which may, or may not, be 
attained. Here are judgments arrayed in serried ranks, each 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 239 

supported by its neighbour, and the final judgment an irre- 
futable consequence of its companions, from which our think- 
ing set out. 

In response to this suggestion we have only to inquire 
whether or no our original thinking really goes on in this 
way, or whether this example illustrates the arrangement of 
which certain of our thought processes are susceptible after 
they have been pruned of excrescences. Our own view about 
this question is doubtless indicated by the mode in which we 
have approached it. There can be no doubt that the cele- 
brated syllogism which we have just proposed reveals an 
extremely fundamental fact about the relations of certain of 
our judgments to one another. That the syllogism also 
represents the actual mode in which we commonly reach con- 
clusions is altogether another proposition, and one to which 
assent certainly cannot be given. The question here at issue 
is purely one of fact, and each one must determine for him- 
self whether in his reasoning processes he finds himself pro- 
ceeding in the syllogistic manner. 

When we examine our thinking, with this question in mind, 
most of us find that neither as regards the order of the 
several steps, nor as regards their number, does our common 
reasoning comply with the pattern of the syllogism. In 
instances like that of our illustration we should rarely have 
any recourse to the second proposition, or the minor premise, 
as logicians call it, even provided we found it necessary to 
consider the truth of the conclusion. Moreover, it would as 
a rule be only in case we found it necessary to verify the truth 
of the concluding proposition that we should revert to either 
of the other propositions ; and then the order of our thought 
would be — first, the conclusion; second, the major premise. 
So that neither order nor number of judgments is as the 
syllogism with which we started requires. 

As a device for exhibiting the source of our confidence in 
the truth of the conclusion^ the syllogism undoubtedly 



240 PSYCHOLOGY 

possesses a value ; for it makes explicit and clear in the fewest 
possible words the fundamentally important relations among 
the ideas involved. It is^ however, as a method of exposition, 
demonstration, and proof, rather than as a type of actual 
constructive thinking, that it gets its chief significance. 
Nevertheless, it possesses one characteristic which is peculiar 
to many reflective processes, and to this we must briefly refer. 

Deduction. — The major premise— '^^ all men are mortal ^^ — 
contains an assertion of a general principle which we have 
observed that we may use as a principle of veriflcation for 
such an assertion as that of the conclusion — '' Socrates is 
mortal.^^ Now, general principles play essentially the same 
role in our thinking as do the general ideas which we dis- 
cussed in the chapter on conception. They summarise, just 
as concepts do, large masses of human experience, and in our 
purposive thinking we repeatedly have occasion to employ 
them. We might call them complex concepts. 

These general principles represent the counterparts in our 
conscious operations of the principle of habit in our motor 
coordinations. Just in so far as we regard them as really 
stable and well established, v/e use them almost reflexly in 
our thinking, and apply them without more ado to the deter- 
mination of conclusions about such facts as they may concern. 
Thus, having assured ourselves that a certain act is really 
stealing, we instantly class it as despicable and wrong; hav- 
ing learned that a substance c^ culiar appearance is wood, 
we are immediately prepared to and that it will burn; if we 
hear of the discovery of a new planet, we assume without ques- 
tion that it will possess an elliptical orbit. These reactions 
consist in applying to appropriate things the habitual accom- 
paniments of speciflc objects, or events, in the form of general 
ideas, or principles, concerning similar objects and events. 
Such a process lends perspective to the special subject to 
which the principle is applied, by bringing it into overt con- 
nection with the experieiice to which it may be most immedi- 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 241 

ately germane, while it enriches and fortifies the general 
principle itself by adding to its scope a new and definite 
instance. It demands no argument, beyond the mention of 
the facts just described, to demonstrate that we make a con- 
stant use of general principles in some such fashion as this. 

The problem is at once suggested by the foregoing discus- 
sion of deduction, as to how we obtain the general principles 
therein at issue. This brings us to the complementary proc- 
ess which logicians designate induction. 

Induction. — According to the familiar accounts of it induc- 
tion is the operation by means of which we come to generalise 
upon individual events. For example, having observed num- 
bers of specific instances of the phenomenon, we come to the 
conclusion that all paper is combustible. In a similar way 
we come to assert that all mammals have lungs, that masses 
attract one another, etc., etc. 

Criticism of Induction. — Now, logicians have argued at 
grea^t length upon the question whether we really succeed by 
inductive inference in going beyond the particular facts 
which have actually been examined. They have also consid- 
ered at great length the criterion, or warrant, upon which 
inductive principles proceed, supposing that they ever do 
transcend the facts from which they set out. Sometimes it 
has been maintained, for example, that the inductive general- 
isation, " All men are mortal,^^ which is based upon our 
examination of a finite nun>"' ""of cases of human mortality, 
obtains its ultimate significance for knowledge simply by 
virtue of the assumed uniformity of nature. What has hap- 
pened a number of times will always happen under like con- 
ditions, is the meaning of this view. Or, stated more rigidly, 
whatever has happened under given conditions will always 
happen under the same conditions. Many other views of the 
matter have been defended, but we can hardly enter upon 
them. Suffije it for our purposes to observe that whatever 
may be the final merit and reliability of inductive inferences. 



242 PSYCHOLOGY 

we do in our actual thinking make constant use of such gen- 
eralisations^ and on the whole with practical success. 

Indeed^ after our account of habit and association and our 
account of the formation and development of concepts^, we 
should be ill-prepared for any other conclusion. Having 
found a certain characteristic common to a large number of 
events^ it could not well be otherwise than that we should be 
predisposed by the principle of habit to connect this character 
with all other events which we judged to be of like kind. This 
would tend to occur on the level of mere trains of associative 
ideas^ as in revery^ where it mighty however, often escape 
attention ; it would also come out clearly in the recognition of 
points in common among such occurrences as we found our- 
selves obliged to reason about in the course of overcoming 
difficulties^ whether practical or theoretical. Thus^ in revery 
our thoughts might run upon the planets^ and as the ideas of 
them passed through our minds we should probably think of 
them all as spherical, and yet this common property might 
escape our definite notice. In reasoning, however, we should 
often find it indispensable to emphasise common qualities of 
this kind. So, for instance, in attempting to predict weather 
conditions we should speedily find it necessary to proceed on 
the generalisation that all low barometric phenomena were 
indicative of storm formation. The same exigencies, there- 
fore, which lead us to form general ideas, also lead us to that 
special type of idea which we more often call a general prin- 
ciple and express in a proposition. 

Deduction and Induction Compared. — In comparing deduc- 
tion and induction it is often said that induction necessarily 
precedes deduction, because we obviously cannot apply our 
general principles until we possess them, and it is by means of 
induction that we obtain them. It is also said that in deduc- 
tion our thought proceeds from the more general to the less 
general, from the universal to the particular; whereas in in- 
duction the order of procedure is reversed. There is an ele- 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 243 

ment of truth in both assertions, but this form of expressing 
it is certainly misleading. 

The truth in the first contention consists in the fact that 
all general principles are based upon particular experiences. 
But this does not mean that inductive processes occur first, 
and then at a later step deduction appears. Both kinds of 
process go on together, as we shall see in a moment. Indeed, 
strictly speaking, they are in the last analysis simply two 
phases of one and the same process. The truth in the second 
assertion resides in the fact that some portions of our think- 
ing proceed under relatively more habitual forms than others. 
The deductive process represents the application of a mental 
habit, or principle, to a practical case, under just such condi- 
tions as we have already described. The inductive process 
represents more distinctly the formation of these habits of 
thought. In both cases, however, so far as concerns the prog- 
ress of the successive thoughts, we always find that the 
advance is from particular to particular. Moreover, the 
advance is not so much an advance from the particular idea 
X to the independent and particular 1/, now shown to be 
related in some way to x^ as it is a development of the idea 
X, hitherto undifferentiated in this special fashion, into the 
idea x containing a y relation. Thus, the generalisation 
about low barometric conditions and storm formation is not a 
mental process in which two wholly disconnected ideas are 
brought together. It is simply a process in which the hith- 
erto unspecified experience " low-barometer-storm-forma- 
tion ^^ is resolved into its fuller significance for practical use. 
Similarly, in subsequent deductive operations with this prin- 
ciple, i, e.y all low barometric conditions indicate storms 
imminent, we proceed from the particular idea ^^low barome- 
ter/^ to the particular idea " storm forming.^^ However con- 
venient, therefore, it may at times prove to speak of passing 
from the general to the particular, and vice versa, we must 
remember that in our actual thought processes we always 



244 PSYCHOLOGY 

juxtapose particulars; or more precisely^ we deal with dis- 
criminable features of a single mental particular. Of course 
it will be understood from our studj^ of the development of 
concepts that these particulars are under this treatment 
modified incessantly^ both by expansion and contraction. 

We have seen from time to time throughout our work that 
each mental process which we have examined contains some 
old features and some new features^ that it reflects the prin- 
ciple of habit and the principle of fresh adjustment to novel 
conditions. Induction and deduction are further illustra- 
tions of this same fact. Just as in perception we observed 
the new element in the sensory stimulus^ and the old element 
in the reaction b)^ a modified cortex^ so we have seen that 
induction represents that function of our purposive thinking 
in which the new adjustment is uppermost; whereas deduc- 
tion represents more conspicuously the application of ac- 
quired habits. If the parallel is really genuine^ we should 
expect to find^ as we have at each previous step^ that the two 
attributes of novelty and familiarity in the elements employed 
are never entirely dissevered from one another^ and so we 
should expect to find substantial warrant for our remarks a 
few lines above^ that induction and deduction are but phases 
of a common process. That they are actually conjoined in 
this way does not mean that they always are met v/ith in a 
condition of perfect balance. It may much more naturally 
be expected that sometimes one and sometimes the other 
will present itself as more immediately important and more 
properly conspicuous. We have seen an analogous case in the 
instance of memory when compared with some kinds of per- 
ception. In the one case the obvious emphasis falls upon 
the new, in the other upon the old. So it is in reality with 
the relation between deduction and induction. 

In reaching the induction, " all low barometer = storm 
formation/^ we may suppose a number of instances to have 
been examined before the generalisation is made. Now, the 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING H5 

intelligent apprehension of the terms concerned in the judg- 
ments^ that is^ low barometer and storms^, evidently involves 
a reference back to past experience^ to past factors of knowl- 
edge^ which is^ as we have seen^ the essential feature of deduc- 
tion. Moreover^ the actual procedure by which we assure 
ourselves of the tenability of such an induction consists in 
comparing mentally each new instance with previous similar 
instances. In this operation the old experiences practically 
occupy the place of general principles^ under which we array 
the new case. So that the deductive characteristics are evi- 
dently present in an unmistakable way in inductive forms 
of reasoning. 

Conversely, when we apply a general principle, or infer that 
a special consequence will follow an event, because of the 
general class to which it belongs, we inevitably avail ourselves 
of inductive methods, in so far as we label the new fact. 
When we predict a storm because we observe a fall in the 
barometer we are in reality dealing with a new specific 
instance, which we generalise in an essential inductive way. 
We may call it a case of deduction, because we have already 
convinced ourselves of the invariability of the connection 
between the storm phenomena and the particular barometric 
conditions. Nevertheless, the actual mental process by 
means of which we make the prediction is quite as truly 
characterised by induction. We may feel reasonably con- 
fident, therefore, that the reasoning processes do not constitute 
any exception to the rule which we have previously enun- 
ciated, that all cognitive mental operations involve both old 
and new factors. 

Reasoning and Purposive Thinking. — It ought now to be 
fairly clear that the precise significance which we attach to 
the term reasoning is largely a matter of arbitrary termi- 
nology. Undoubtedly some of our purposive thinking takes a 
highly abstract and systematised form. Undoubtedly, also, 
most of it goes on in a much more concrete, miscellaneous, 



246 PSYCHOLOGY 

hit-and-miss fashion. But it is essentially impossible to draw 
any sharp line marking off the more orderly and exact pro- 
cedure from the more promiscuous form ; and as the presence 
of a dominating purpose^ plan^ or interest seems to control 
the ideational processes in both cases^ it has seemed the 
simpler and more natural thing to call all purposive thinking 
reasoning. We are then entirely able to recognise stages of 
abstraction and complexity in the execution of such thinking 
without any sacrifice of regard for the facts. 

General Function of Reasoning. — In reasoning, with its 
employment of concepts in judgments, we meet with the most 
highly evolved of all the psychical devices for assisting the 
adaptive activities of the organism, and this notion of its 
general significance is so familiar that it requires no detailed 
justification. Certain features of its practical operation may, 
however, profitably be described, especially in connection with 
our general notion of the relation between conscious and 
neuro-muscular processes. 

In the original sensory stimulations of early infant life 
we have seen that there is a general overflow of the nervous 
energy into miscellaneous motor channels, occasioning hetero- 
geneous and uncoordinated movements of various parts of the 
bodj^ We have also traced in outline the process of the devel- 
opment by means of which the motor escapement becomes 
confined to certain limited and definite channels, and thus 
succeeds in establishing coordinated habitual movements. 
We have seen that these coordinations become more and more 
elaborate as growth proceeds, and we have noted that in this 
development the psj^chical processes which we have analysed 
as perception, imagination, and memory play an amazingly 
important part. Now, so far as we mean to cover by the 
term reasoning all purposive thinking, it is clear that these 
various mental operations just referred to can only contribute 
in a significant way to the modification of motor reactions in 
the measure in which they enter into processes of reasoning. 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 247 

It must be remembered again^ that our purposive thinking is 
sometimes very riidim±entary^ simple, and abrupt; and at 
other times highly complicated, prolonged, and abstract. In 
reasoning we really find brought together and focalised all 
the important characteristics of the various mental modes 
which we have thus far studied. 

This may be shown in the case of memory, as an illustra- 
tion, but it is no truer to the facts here than it would be in 
the case of perception or imagination. If memory operated 
so as to bring into our consciousness ideas of our past experi- 
ences, but without any special reference to some present need, 
it would possess a certain intellectual interest comparable 
with that of a geyser, or other irregular natural phenomenon. 
But it would be an almost wholly useless adornment of our 
mental life. It is because memory enables us to recall experi- 
ences when we need to bring to bear upon some present per- 
plexity the significance of our past experience that it assists 
us in getting ahead in the world. It is, in short, the part 
which it plays in purposive thinking which gives it its value. 
Moreover, this significance of the past experience is a thing 
which concretely brings w^ith it tendencies to certain modes 
of action. It is not a mere reinstatement of ideas with 
which we are dealing in such a case. It is a reinstatement of 
ideas connected with which are certain quasi-habitual actions. 
For example, we come back to a city which we have not 
visited for a number of years, and go in search of a friend. 
We finally reach the street upon which his dwelling stands, 
but to our surprise we are at once in doubt whether to turn 
to the right or to the left. We think a moment and succeed 
in recalling his house number. A moment^s inspection of 
the street numbers suffices to determine our action, and we 
immediately turn in the correct direction. The memory 
image, in connection with our perceptual process, instantly 
resulted in a movement in the appropriate direction. 

Similarly, though not always so obviously, with perceptual 



248 PSYCHOLOGY 

activities. If I am engaged in writings wliat I perceive (my 
hand^ the words, etc.) is certainly in part determined by my 
mental operations at the moment. Not only so, but my per- 
ceiving of the pen and paper are processes directly contribu- 
tory to the expression of my purposes in my writing. The 
perception is taken up into the purposive thinking of the 
moment; or, expressing the facts more accurately, it is itself 
an integral part of the onward movement of my general pur- 
posive thought activities. I cannot execute efficiently that type 
of purposes which gets expression in writing without the 
assistance of the perceptual act. Always somewhere imbedded 
in the general matrix of our conduct, whether lying near the 
surface or deeply hidden in the recesses of our inner con- 
sciousness, we come upon purposes, plans, intentions, which 
explain our whereabouts and our action ; and upon these basal 
factors rest our particular perceptions, as well as our other 
mental acts. 

Neural Counterpart of Reasoning. — In a diagrammatic 
manner, but only in such manner, we can indicate the general 
neural counterpart of our purposive thinking, whether in its 
simpler, or in its more elaborate forms. In the case of our 
more distinctly habitual coordinations we long since observed 
how with a minimum of conscious accompaniments a sen- 
sory stimulus may make its way in the form of neural excita- 
tion from a sense organ directly through the (lower?) centres 
to appropriate muscular groups. This case is illustrated in 
the movement of the hand to throw the latch of a familiar 
door. In the case of stimulations which require a conscious 
reaction, whether simple or complex, the motor discharge 
is postponed, sometimes only for an instant, sometim.es in- 
definitely. A typical instance which brings out the more 
important features of cases where persistent perplexities are 
involved is the following: 

A man sleeping in a strange building is awakened by an 
alarm of fire. He hastily rises, throws on some clothing, and 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 249 

starts for the stairway. Up to this point the course of the 
successive neural events has been — auditory stimulus, memory 
activity, motor response with habitual coordinations, involved 
in dressing and running toward the remembered stairway. 
He finds the stairway already filled with smoke. Escape in 
this way is cut off and he turns back. Again sensory stim- 
ulus — -this time partly visual, partly olfactory and auditory — 
and motor response of the habitual variety. His next thought 
is of a fire-escape, but none is to be discovered. He tries 
other rooms, but also without success. In these movements 
we have successive expressions of sensory stimuli, with 
memory intermediaries suggesting fire-escapes, each group of 
stimulations discharging into movements carrying him from 
place to place. Terror has rapidly been overcoming him, and 
his motions become violent and ill-controlled. Suddenly it 
occurs to him to make a rope of the bed-clothing. Before he 
can complete this the fire has made such progress that on 
looking from the windows he sees he cannot pass through 
the flames and live. His terror now turns to complete panic, 
his excitement bursts over into aimless rushing about, and he 
is on the point of hurling himself from the window when 
he comes upon another stairway, bounds to the roof, and 
finally escapes to another building. 

In this case we have essentially all the stages of practical 
reasoning process involved. We have a problem, or a dif- 
ficulty, reported in the form of a stimulus, which cannot be 
dealt with in a purely habitual, non-conscious fashion. The 
first effort to meet this obstacle consists in cortical excitations 
of relevant memory processes, and the expression of these in 
the forms of acquired coordinated movements. In many 
instances the first or second effort would, of course, have 
achieved success and cut short the remainder of the process. 
In some more distinctly intellectual forms of problem th^ 
memory process would not necessarily express its bearings in 
the form of actual movements executed at the moment. But 



250 PSYCHOLOGY 

the excitation of the cortical activities is of precisely the same 
kind;, and has precisely the same significance^ as in the hypo- 
thetical case we are considering. Whenever the coordinations 
employed at the summons of the memory process^ in the way 
we have described^ prove inadequate to meet the difficulties in 
hand^ there is always this same progress from one reaction to 
another^ until patience^ or the available store of one^s experi- 
ence, has been exhausted. 

If the problem constitutes an insignificant stimulus, one 
or two failures to solve it may result in the abandonment of 
the effort in favour of some more pressing interest which 
enlists our more vivid feeling. But when, as in the case of 
our illustration, the significance of the problem is compelling, 
we meet, after the failure of all the reactions suggested by 
memory and executed by habitual coordinations, the remark- 
able phenomenon we last described. The stimuli apparently 
continue gathering power, which can no longer be drained 
off in coherent motor responses, and presently we see very 
much what we observed with babies, i, g., the breaking over 
of the neural excitement into almost every motor channel. 
This diffusion in the case of infants is wholly uncoordinated, 
whereas with the adult it is coordinated in a measure, but 
incoherently, and with reference to no single purpose. Never- 
theless, such mal-coordinations, which at least serve to bring 
the organism into new conditions, are sometimes, as in our 
illustrative case, successful in providing escape from diffi- 
culties. Animals make large use of such violent and random 
movements whenever they are confronted by strange and ter- 
rifying conditions. If, after memory has done its work, 
there still be need for other forms of reaction, this sort of 
general motor explosion is really all that there is left to fall 
back upon. Our supposititious man might have thrown him- 
self out of the window, as many others have done under the 
intellectually stupefying effects of extreme fear, but even 
so, the neural process would have been highly similar to that 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 251 

which we have described^ and it represents the consequences 
of a practical breakdown in the coordinated movements sug- 
gested by memory as competent to meet the case at hand. 
The neural process in the more abstruse forms of reasoning 
is probably quite like that which we have now described^ save 
as regards the delicacy and infrequency of the associative 
links by means of which we pass from idea to idea in our 
effort to overcome mental difficulties. Sensory discrimina- 
tion^ intellectual abstraction^ memory processes^ judgments of 
comparison^ habitual coordinations — in varying degree and in 
shifting combinations these factors are present in all types 
of reasonings from the most concrete and simple to the most 
complicated and abstract. 

Genesis of Reason in Human Beings. — The precise moment 
at which a child passes out of the stage of mere perceptual 
thinking and succeeds in creating concepts detached from 
particular events is not one that we can exactly determine, 
nor is it important that we should do so. It certainly comes 
in a rudimentary way with the voluntary control of his 
muscles, and it grows rapidly as soon as he gets control of 
language. In general, it may be said that its appearance is 
largely dependent upon the demands which the child's en- 
vironment makes upon him. So long as he is a mere vege- 
table, fed and watered at definite intervals, conceptual think- 
ing is of no great consequence. As he comes to attain more 
complex social relations, and as he finds himself surrounded 
with increasingly complex situations to deal with, conceptual 
thinking, with its classifying, simplifying characteristics, be- 
comes essential to effective adaptation. Moreover, when such 
thinking does appear, we know that the child is beginning the 
evolution of that special part of his mental life which marks 
him off most definitely from the higher brutes. 

The Reasoning of Animals. — We gain an interesting side- 
light upon the reasoning processes of human beings, and 
especially upon the development of reasoning in children, by 



252 PSYCHOLOGY 

observing certain of the mental operations of animals. Two 
extreme views have been popularly entertained concerning 
the reasoning powers of animals. One of them is repre- 
sented by the disposition to apostrophise man as the sole 
possessor of reason^ the lord of creation^ rnling over creatures 
of blind instinct. The other view has fonnd expression in 
marvelling at the astounding intellectual feats of occasional 
domestic animals^ or at the shrewdness and cunning of their 
brethren of the wild. Both kinds of animals have been forth- 
with accredited with the possession of reasoning powers of no 
mean pretensions. Of recent years rapid advances have been 
made in the scientific observation of animals^ and it seems 
probable that at no remote day we may possess a fairly ac- 
curate impression of the scope and nature of their psychical 
lives. Meantime we must speak somewhat conservatively and 
tentatively. 

Many of the acts of animals which have enlisted the most 
unbounded admiration are undoubtedly purely instinctive. 
And not only so^ but it seems probable that many of these 
instincts are unconscious and just as truly reflex as the most 
uncontrollable of human reflexes, such as the patellar. 
Thus, the remarkable actions of ants, whose astonishing 
system of cooperative government has furnished so many fine 
rhetorical figures, are apparently due to reflex reactions, to 
stimulations chiefly of an olfactory kind, to which they are 
probably obedient in much the same fashion as are the iron 
filings to the magnet which they seek. 

Many acts of animals, which are at least effective expres- 
sions of mJnd, seem upon close examination to consist simply 
in associating certain acts with certain objects or situations. 
The original associating of the correct elements may have 
come about more or less accidentally, and is certainly often 
the result of many random trials. Thus, a young rat, in at- 
tempting to get into a box containing cheese, the entrance to 
which requires his digging away an amount of sawdust at 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 253 

one particular spot^ will often scamper many times around 
and over the box before starting to dig. If after digging and 
finding the correct spot he be removed and the sawdust 
replaced, the same sort of operation generally goes on as did 
at first, only now he succeeds much more rapidly than before. 
After a few trials he goes almost instantly to the correct spot, 
makes few or no useless movements, and promptly gets his 
reward. 

In cases of this kind we see an animal endowed with a 
large number of motor impulses, which enal)le him by virtue 
of his sheer restlessness to achieve his original success in 
getting food. Little by little the association between the 
food and the efficacious impulse becomes ingrained, all the 
others fall out, and to the observer, who is innocent of the 
previous stages of the process, his act appears highly in- 
telligent. As the creature grows older an interesting change 
comes over his performances. If he be given a problem to 
solve similar to the one we have just described, he begins in 
a much calmer and more circumspect way than does his 
younger protege. His first success may consequently be less 
quickly achieved. But in subsequent trials he becomes much 
more rapidly proficient, and one or two trials may be all that 
he requires to attain practical perfection in the act. In the 
mature rat the memory process is evidently much more active 
and reliable. 

Eeasoning processes of this kind — if one wishes so to label 
them — are much in evidence in little children. The small 
boy, striving to repair his toy, turns it this way and that, 
hammers it, and pulls it about. Sometimes success unex- 
pectedly crowns his labours, and he may then be able to bring 
about the desired result again. He has a general wish to set 
his toy aright, much as the rat has his ambition in the matter 
of the cheese. Neither of them has any clear recognition of 
the means appropriate to the end, but both of them, by trying 
one move after another, finally come upon the correct com- 



254 PSYCHOLOGY 

bination^ after which memory often enables them to repeat 
the achievement. In the light of our present knowledge it 
seems probable that the great mass of seemingly intelligent 
acts which animals perform^ apart from instinctive acts^ are 
of this variety^ and therefore involve nothing more elaborate 
than the association of certain types of situation with certain 
motor impulses. 

Just how far such acts may at times involve the perception 
of coherent relations in the manner characteristic of adult 
human intelligence^ it is essentially impossible to say. One 
of the vigorously controverted points about animal intelli- 
gence comes to light here. Do animals form concepts of any 
kind? If they do not^ they evidently cannot execute the 
intellectual processes peculiar to the more abstruse forms of 
human reasoning. Do animals ever employ association of 
similars in their psychical operations? If not^ again we 
must deny to them one of the most significant features of 
human thinking. Do th'^eir gestures and attitudes^ by means 
of which they seem to communicate with one another^ ever 
rise to the level of real language^ furnishing a social medium 
for definitely recognised meanings? On these points com- 
petent observers are not at present altogether agreed. It 
seems^ however^ probable that animals rarely^ if ever^ achieve 
the distinct separation of ideas and perceptions which human 
beings attain; and that they do not^ therefore^, employ the 
concept in the form in which developed language permits the 
human to do. The acts of certain of the apes^ however, and 
occasional performances of some of the higher mammals^ in- 
dicate a very considerable degree of original and intelligent 
reaction to sensory stimulations. The animal consciousness 
is probably much more exclusively and continuously mo- 
nopolised by mere awareness of bodily conditions than the 
human consciousness^ and much more rarely invaded in any 
definite manner by independent images of past experience. 
Meantime^ we have to remember that the nervous system of 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 255 

che higher animals seems to afford all the necessary basis for 
the appearance and development of the simpler forms of 
rational consciousness^ and the only difference in these 
processes^ as compared with those of man^ of which we can 
speak dogmatically and with entire confidence, is the differ- 
ence in complexity and elaboration. 



CHAPTEE XIII 
THE AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 

Feeling and Cognition. — In the foregoing chapters our 
attention has been chiefly directed to those phases of our 
consciousness by means of which we come into the possession 
of knowledge. We have examined the several stages in 
cognition from its appearance in sensation up through the 
various steps to reasoning. We have noted the increasing 
complexity and the increasing definiteness which seems to 
characterise the development of this aspect of our minds^ and 
we have traced so far as we could the neural basis of the 
several processes at issue. We have seen that the elements 
of our knowledge ultimately reduce to sensory activities, for 
which the immediate preconditions are specialised sense 
organs and a central nervous system. We have seen how the 
whole significance of the different stages in the cognitive 
operation is found in the devices which they represent to 
further the efficiency of the motor responses which the organ- 
ism is constantly obliged to make to its environment. We 
have seen that memory, imagination, and reasoning are thus 
simply half-way houses between stimuli and reactions which 
serve to permit the summoning of just those movements 
which the present situation demands, when interpreted in the 
light of the individuaFs past experience. 

We stated explicitly at the outset of our analysis of these 
cognitive operations that we should be obliged temporarily to 
overlook certain other factors of our consciousness. We come 
now to take up one of these neglected processes which has as 
a matter of fact contributed to produce the results in many of 
our illustrations. This process is commonly known to psy- 

256 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 257 

chologists as feeling. The word feeling has many other well- 
recognised meanings^ and the function which it is made to 
subserve in this present connection is somewhat arbitrarily 
imposed upon it. Moreover^ certain psychologists refuse to 
-use it in this limited fashion. But we shall employ the term 
to designate in a general way those processes which represent 
and express the tone of our consciousness. A rough distinc- 
tion is sometimes made between cognition and feeling by 
saying that cognition furnishes us the nouns and adjectives^ 
the " whats ^^ of our states of consciousness^ while feeling 
affords the adverbial '' how.^^ What are you conscious of ? 
An object;, a picture. How does it affect you? Agreeably. 
The first question and answer bring out the cognitive factors, 
the second emphasise the feelings. Another line of demar- 
cation which is sometimes proposed is based on the assertion 
that cognition informs us of objects and relations external to 
ourselves, whereas feeling informs us of our own internal 
mental condition. The general character of the distinction 
will become more evident as we examine more carefully cer- 
tain specific types of conscious experience. 

Elementary Forms of Feeling, or Affection. — If we hold 
a prism up in the sunlight and throw the spectral colours 
upon a wall, we not only experience the various sensory quali- 
ties of the several colours, we also commonly experience 
pleasure. If we now turn and look at the sun, we not only 
see the orb, we also experience discomfort. Similarly, when 
we strike three tuning forks which harmonise with one 
another we hear the qualities of the component sounds and 
we also find them agreeable. Instances of disagreeable sounds 
will readily suggest themselves. We might examine our sen- 
sation of pressure, movement, temperature, smell, and taste, 
and find the same thing true, i. e., that they are accompanied 
sometimes by pleasure and sometimes by discomfort. More- 
over, we shall find the same kind of sensation, for example, 
the sensation of sweetness, at one time felt as agreeable, at 



258 PSYCHOLOGY 

another time as disagreeable. The converse case is repre- 
sented by acquired tastes^ such as the fondness for olives, 
where ordinarily the taste is originally unpleasant., but sub- 
sequently becomes highly agreeable. Finally, there are many 
sensations which seem to be essentially neutral and indiffer- 
ent. We cannot say with confidence that they are clearly and 
positively either pleasant or unpleasant. Many colours and 
many sounds are in this manner all but impossible to classify 
as agreeable or disagreeable. Ideas also, as well as sensa- 
tions, display escorts of agreeable or disagreeable character. 
It would, therefore, appear that pleasantness and unpleasant- 
ness are attributes of consciousness which, although they may 
accompany sensory and ideational activities, are distinguish- 
^ able from sensations. Apparently sensory forms of conscious- 
Niess may occur without any, or at all events without any 
unmistakable, accompanying process of agreeableness and 
disagreeableness. On the other hand, it does not seem possible 
to point out any case in which the consciousness of pleasant- 
ness and unpleasantness occurs independently of sensations 
or ideas. The agreeable-disagreeable element or phase of 
our states of consciousness is often spoken of as '' affection,^^ 
the total complex state in which it occurs being then called 
^' feeling.^^ This seems a convenient usage, even if somewhat 
arbitrary, and we shall therefore adopt it. 

Theories of Wundt and Royce. — Wundt and Koyce have 
recently maintained that there are other dimensions of feel- 
ing in addition to those of pleasantness and unpleasantness. 
Both of these writers speak of feelings of excitement and 
calm, and Wundt adds a third group, i, e.^ feelings of strain 
and relaxation. It is contended that the individual members 
of these several groups may, theoretically at least, be com- 
bined in any manner whatever. Thus, pleasantness may be 
accompanied by strain and excitement, or by excitement 
alone, or by increasing quiet alone. 

A detailed criticism of these views is not to be thought of 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 259 

at this time. The author can only indicate the general 
grounds of his disagreement with these theories^ and remark 
that their enunciation has not as 3- et called forth very extended 
assent from psychologists. That our general condition is 
sometimes one of strain and sometimes one of relaxation 
naturally admits of no doubt. But our awareness of this 
condition of strain or relaxation is due primarily to the 
peculiar kinsesthetic sensations which accompany such states 
and report the tension of our muscular system. This feature 
in consciousness is of a sensor)^ nature therefore^ and does not 
warrant a classification with the affective elements. Strain 
and relaxation may be at times general characteristics of the 
total attitude of consciousness towards its object. But they 
belong to the cognitive order of conscious processes. 

Again^ excitement and its opposite are characteristics which 
apply beyond question to the general activity of conscious- 
ness. But after we have subtracted the effects already men- 
tioned under strain-relaxation^ it is not clear that we have 
anything left to designate as the consciousness of excitement, 
except our awareness of the general vividness and date of flow 
in our conscious states. When we are much excited, com- 
monly our muscles are (some or all of them) tense, our res- 
piration is abnormal;, etc. When there is muscular quiet with 
absence of acute kinaesthetic sensations, only our conscious- 
ness of the intensity and rapidity of change in the conscious 
processes remains. Although we acknowledge, therefore, the 
appositeness of these new categories as applied to certain 
general modifications of aur consciousness, we maintain that 
we become aware of these modifications through cognitive 
channels already recognised and described. We consequently 
prefer at present to abide by the older analysis of pleasantness 
and unpleasantness as the two modes of affection fundamen- 
tally distinct from sensation. 

Pain Sensations and Affection. — It will be judicious before 
going further to forestall one fertile source of confusion in 



26o PSYCHOLOGY 

the description of affection. It will be remembered that in 
our account of sensations we noted pain^ which, we saw reason 
to believe, probably had a definite nervous organ like other 
sensations. The characteristic conscious quality arising from 
this organ is the cutting-pricking sensation. If pain is like 
other sensations, it should sometimes prove agreeable and 
sometimes disagreeable, and again neutral. It may possibly 
seem to strain veracity somewhat to speak of this sensation 
as ever being neutral, much less agreeable. And yet slight 
sensations of this character are at least interesting, and many 
persons secure a certain thrill of pleasurable gratification in 
gently touching a wound, in approaching with the tongue a 
sore or loose tooth, etc. That these sensations quickly take 
on when intense an all but unbearable character is notorious. 
This disagreeableness constitutes the affective phase of these 
sensations just as it does with those of sound or vision. 
When we speak of pain, we shall try to mean such states of 
consciousness as depend upon the operation of the pain 
nerves, in connection with which it must be remembered we 
most often obtain on the side of intensity our maximal experi- 
ences of the disagreeable. It is not possible at the present 
moment to indicate precisely how far pain nerves may be 
involved in the operation of the other sensory tracts, such 
as the visual, and therefore how far many of our unpleasant 
sensory experiences, such as occasionally arise from audition, 
vision, etc., may be referable to this source. Meantime, we 
shall follow the indication of the facts best established to-day, 
with a mental willingness to rehabilitate our conception 
whenever it may become conclusively inadequate. 

Affection and Sensation. — In our study of sensation we 
discovered that intensity, duration, and extensity w^ere funda- 
mentally significant features in its constitution. If affection 
is connected with sensory activities, it is highly probable that 
it will be found related to changes in these basal sensory 
characteristics. 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 261 

Relation of Affection to the Duration of Sensory Processes. 

— The case of duration is relatively simple and obvious. Sen- 
sory stimuli of extremely brief duration maj% if we are 
attempting to attend to them^ be somewhat unpleasant. 
Stimuli which are agreeable at first, such as certain tones, 
often become positively disagreeable if long continued, and 
always under such conditions become at least tedious. It 
must be remembered that in some instances, for example, 
cases of olfactory and thermal stimulation, the sense organ 
becomes either exhausted or adapted, as the case may be, and 
that for this reason the stimuli practically cease to be felt — 
cease properly to be stimuli. Such cases furnish exceptions 
to the statement above, which are exceptions in appearance 
only. Disagreeable stimuli when long continued become 
increasingly unpleasant until exhaustion sets in to relieve, 
often by unconsciousness, the strain upon the organism. 
There is, therefore, for any particular pleasure-giving stimu- 
lus a definite duration at which its possible agreeableness is 
at a maximum. Briefer stimulations are at least less agree- 
able, and longer ones become rather rapidly neutral or even 
unpleasant. Disagreeable stimuli probably have also a maxi- 
mum unpleasantness at a definite period, but the limitations 
of these periods are much more diflBcult to determine with any 
approach to precision. All sensory experiences, if continued 
long enough, or repeated frequently enough, tend accordingly 
to lose their affective characteristics and become relatively 
neutral. As familiar instances of this, one may cite the 
gradual subsidence of our interest and pleasure in the beauties 
of nature when year after year we live in their presence; 
or the gradual disappearance of our annoyance and discom- 
fort at the noise of a great city after a few days of exposure 
to it. Certain objects of a purely aesthetic character, such as 
statues, may, however, retain their value for feeling through^ 
out long periods. 
Affection and the Intensity of Sensations. — The relations 



262 PSYCHOLOGY 

of affection to the intensity of sensation processes is extremely 
complex; among other reasons^, because the intensity of a 
sensation is not wholly dependent npon the vigour of the 
stimulus^ but upon the relations momentarily existing 
between the stimulus and the organism. When one has a 
headache the sound which otherwise might hardly be noticed 
seems extremely loud. Commonly^ however^ sensations of very 
weak intensity are either indifferent or slightly exasperating 
and unpleasant; those of moderate intensity are ordinarily 
agreeable^ and those of high intensity are usually unpleasant. 
Owing to the obvious connection of the sensory attributes of 
duration and intensity^ we shall expect that affection will show 
variations in keeping with the relation between these two. A 
very brief stimulus of moderate intensity may affect the ner- 
vous system in a very slight degree. A moderate stimulus 
on the other hand^ if long continued^ may result in very 
intense neural activity^ and so be accompanied finally by 
unpleasant affective tone^ rather than by the agreeableness 
which generally belongs to moderate stimulation. 

Affection and Extensity of Sensations. — We shall find that 
the extensity of sensation processes^ when regarded alone, 
possesses no significance for the production of affective phe- 
nomena which has not already been exhibited under the head 
of intensity. A colour which seems to us beautiful^ when a 
sufficient amount of it is presented to us, may become indif- 
ferent when its extent is ver)^ much diminished. This con- 
sists, practically, however, in substituting a moderate intensity 
of visual stimulation for one of very restricted intensity. On 
the side of extensity the variations in affective reactions are 
most important in connection with the perception of form, 
and to this feature we shall refer at a later point. 

Comparison of Affection With Sensation. — It may be 
remarked before we proceed to another phase of the matter 
in hand, that affection agrees with sensation in possessing 
degrees of intensity and duration, although it never displays 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 263 

extensity. It apparent^ possesses only two fundamental 
qualities^ agreeableness and disagreeableness^^ which shade 
through an imaginary zero point into one another. On both 
sides of this zero point there are ranges of conscious experi- 
ence whose affective character we cannot introspectively verify 
with confidence^ and we may call this zone the region of 
neutral affective tone. But we must not suppose that this 
involves a genuine third elementary quality of affection. 
Apart from these two qualities^ it seems probable that the 
only variations in affection itself are those which arise from 
differences in its intensitv and duration. The more intimate 
phases of the changes dependent upon the shifting relations 
among these attributes we cannot at present enter upon. 
Wundt^ how^ever^, maintains that an indefinite number of 
qualities of agreeableness and disagreeableness exist. Con- 
clusive introspective proof bearing upon the matter is 
obviously difficult to obtain. 

Affection and Ideational Processes. — We have spoken first 
of affection in dependence upon sensory activities, in part 
because it is in this connection that it first appears, and in 
part because the fundamental facts are here more obvious 
and less complex in their surroundings. But affection is of 
course a frequent companion of ideational processes, and it is, 
indeed, in this sphere that it gains its greatest value for the 
highest types of human beings. We must, therefore, attempt 
to discover the main conditions under which it comes to light 
among ideas. We may conveniently take as the basis of our 
examination the processes which we analysed under the sev- 
eral headings of memory, imagination, and reasoning. For- 
tunately we shall find that the principles governing affection 
in these different cases are essentially identical. That our 
memories are sometimics agreeable and sometimes disagree- 
able needs only to be mentioned to be recognised as true^ 
Oddly enough, as was long ago remarked, the memory of sor- 
row is often a joy to us, and the converse is equally true. It 



264 PSYCHOLOGY 

does not follow^, therefore^ that the affective colouring of an 
act of memory will be like that of the circumstances recalled. 
It may^ or it may not^ be similar. Moreover^ either the orig- 
inal event or the recalling of it may be affectively neutral. 
What then determines the affective accompaniment of any 
specific act of memory ? In a general way we may reply^ the 
special conditions at the moment of recall. In a more 
detailed way we may say whatever furthers conscious activity 
at the moment in progress will be felt as agreeable^ whatever 
impedes such activities will be felt as disagreeable. An illus- 
tration or two may help to make this clearer. 

Affection a Concomitant of the Furthering^ or Impeding, 
of Ideational Activities. — Suppose a man goes out to make a 
number of purchases. At the first shop he gives an order^ 
and upon putting his hand into his pocket to get his purse 
and pay his bill he finds that the purse is gone. The purse 
contained a considerable sum of money^ and a search through 
the outlying and generally unused pockets of the owner fails 
to disclose it. The immediate effect of this discovery is dis- 
tinctly and unmistakably disagreeable. The matter in hand 
is evidently checked and broken up. Furthermore^ the execu- 
tion of various other cherished plans is instantly felt to be en- 
dangered. Thereupon^ the victim turns his attention to the 
possible whereabouts of the purse. Suddenly it occurs to him 
that just before leaving home he changed his coat^ and 
instantly the fate of the purse is clear to him. It is serenely 
resting in the pocket of the coat he previously had on^ which 
is now in his closet. The result of this memory process is 
one of vivid pleasure. The business in hand can now go on. 
It may involve a trip home again^ but at all events the money 
is still available, and the whole experience promptly becomes 
one of agreeable relief. 

Suppose that in this same case, instead of being able to 
recall the circumstances assuring him of the safety of the 
purse, our illustrative individual had failed to find any such 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OP CONSCIOUSNESS 265 

reassuring clue, and did on the other hand distinctly recall 
being roughly jostled by a group of suspicious-looking char- 
acters on the platform of the street car while on the way from 
his home. In this case the memory process would augment 
the unpleasantness of the original discovery of the loss. The 
activity which he had planned for himself would appear more 
than ever thwarted, and the disagreeableness of the experience 
might be so intense as to impress itself on his mind for many 
days to come. 

Affection and Memory. — We shall find upon examination 
that the paradox referred to a few lines above finds its ex- 
planation in a mianner altogether similar to that of this case 
just described. The remembrance of a previous success or of a 
former prosperity may be accompanied by the most disagree- 
able exasperation, because it jars upon the experiences of the 
present moment, from which everything but disaster may seem 
to have fled. Many persons in straitened circumstances 
often seek a pale and disappointing solace in the memory of 
better days. Pride makes in this way a vain effort to efface 
the brute reality of the present, but the effort is generally a 
melancholy failure. Happiness lies not in the contemplation 
of such a past, but in the earnest and absorbed performance 
of the task just at hand. On the other hand, the memory of 
privation and struggle, once success is achieved, may be 
pleasurable, because in this case the thought not only does 
nothing to thwart our present purposes and interests, but 
even augments our progress by a conviction of our own 
strength and capacity. 

From these brief considerations it is evident that memory 
processes may contain very intense affective elements, and 
that apparently these will be painful, or at least unpleasant, 
when the thought which comes to mind serves to impede our 
immediate purposes and desires, especially if the impeding i_s 
sufficiently serious to arouse emotion; whereas they will be 
pleasurable when the suggested ideas contribute vigorously 



266 PSYCHOLOGY 

to the onward flow of our interests and intentions.. Many 
memory processes stand midway between these extremes, and 
are neutrally toned. It is not so evident, but it is never- 
theless the general opinion of psychologists, that the affective 
feature in such ideational feelings is qualitatively identical 
with the affective element in sensory feelings. Sometimes 
the sensory, peripherally initiated feeling is more intense, 
sometimes the ideational or centrally initiated feeling. But^ 
so far as concerns the affective elements proper, the two are 
probably qualitatively alike, and the differences in the total 
states of consciousness in which they appear are, intensity 
apart, primarily due to differences in the cognitive and motor 
elements accompanying them. 

Is There an Affective Memory? — An interesting question 
suggests itself at this point, upon which we may profitably 
dwell a moment. Do we have memories of our feelings in 
the same sense in which we have memories of ideas and per- 
ceptions? Before we essay an answer we must be sure that 
we understand exactly what the question means. When we 
remember events we find that at times the visual image, per- 
haps, of the surroundings comes into our minds. Sometimes 
words or motor images may flash upon us. Or again, we 
may in reply to a question say, " Yes, I remember the circum- 
stances,'^ when in point of fact what we mean is that we are 
certain we could remember them if necessary, although we 
do not at the moment make any effort actually to recall them. 
The last form of memory for feelings we undoubtedly have. 
We can often say with confidence whether at a definite time 
we were experiencing pleasure, or displeasure, or neither. But 
if we actually attempt to recall the event, we find then, as we 
just remarked, that sometimes the recollection itself is af- 
fectively colourless, sometimes it has the affective character 
of the original event, and sometimes an opposite character. 
In a practical way, therefore, we have a memory of affective 
experiences as genuinely as we have in the case of ideas. We 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 267 

can tell what affective tone belonged to vivid experiences. 
But our ability to reinstate the original affective tone with 
the cognitive memory of an event is extremely defective. 
The reasons for this will be clearer after we have examined 
the neural basis of affection. 

Affection and Imagination. — The case of imagination we 
may readily suppose will prove to be much like that of mem- 
ory^ for we discovered earlier in our work how closely related 
these two forms of conscious process are. This supposition 
we find to be correct^ and the only important addition which 
we shall need to make to our previous account of the oper- 
ation of affection in connection with memory will become 
manifest in our examination of reasonings which we shall 
employ in its broadest meaning to apply to all grades of pur- 
posive thinking. 

Affection and Reasoning. — In our analysis of reasoning 
we found that in its most rudimentary forms it seemed to re- 
duce to the ability to apprehend relations and employ them 
constructively. Eecognition we saw was, therefore, in a 
measure an elementary expression of the reasoning power 
akin to the crude forms of conception. It has sometimes 
been maintained by psychologists that all recognition^ whether 
of object or relation, is as such agreeable. The objects or 
relations which we apprehend are, of course, often unpleasant. 
But whenever the content of our apprehension is itself in- 
different, the act of identifying is said to be agreeable ; hence 
the theory. The agreeableness is admitted to be inconsider- 
able in such cases as would be illustrated by a person^s per- 
ception of a familiar book when his eyes chance to fall upon 
it in an accidental excursion about the room. But it is never- 
theless said to be discernible even in instances of this kind, 
while in all cases of mental struggle with some baffling prob- 
lem, the detection of a relevant relation, or the appearance 
of an appropriate idea, is welcomed with a thrill of unmis- 
takable pleasure. Total states of consciousness of this kind, 



268 PSYCHOLOGY 

together with such antithetic cases as are mentioned a few 
lines below, are by certain psychologists designated as '^ in- 
tellectual feelings/^ Wholly strange surroundings, on the 
other hand, in which we find nothing familiar to recognise, 
are said to produce in us at times uneasiness and discomfort. 
Moreover, we are all familiar with the unpleasantness of an 
abortive effort to recall a name or a number, and the fruitless 
effort to solve a problem is often mentally most distressing. 
Evidently such a formula as that cited above contains a quota 
of truth, but it is also evident that exceptions are easy to find. 
In order to reach consistency we must look for the principle 
lying beneath these formulations. By examining the condi- 
tions under which we execute these relatings of conscious 
processes to one another, we may come upon the law govern- 
ing their affective consequences. 

It will clearly be judicious to follow the clue which we se- 
cured in our description of the affective aspect of memory. 
It is at least possible that this may prove to afford us a basal 
principle. If so, we shall expect that in so far as any appre- 
hension of relations, or objects, furthers an enterprise at the 
moment dominating our consciousness, it will be agreeable; 
whereas in so far as it thwarts or checks such an interest it 
will be unpleasant. This certainly seems to hold true wher- 
ever it is possible to apply it to concrete facts. For example, 
strange things are not disagreeable, but quite the contrary, 
provided we are travelling for amusement. If we are in 
haste to reach some destination in a city, and find that we 
have accidentally left the street car at the. wrong point and 
are in strange streets surrounded by totally unfamiliar houses, 
the experience may be momentarily very uncanny and dis- 
agreeable, after which it may strike us as amusing, or as ex- 
asperating, depending on the circumstances involved. The 
agreeableness or disagreeableness in the perception of such 
objects and such relations is, therefore, in no true sense 
primarily determined by their strangeness or their famil- 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 269 

iarity. It is determined by the manner in which the percep- 
tion affects our purposes and interests. 

On the other hand^ the perception of a familiar object like 
one^s own home may arouse either ennui^ tedium^^ and a sense 
of unrest^ or the keenest pleasure^ depending not at all upon 
the familiarity of the object^ but solely upon the mental 
condition in which we chance to be^, and upon the relation 
which the object bears to this condition. If we are eager 
to see our parents to communicate some piece of good news 
we may find the sight of home most delightful. If^ on the 
other hand, we desire^ in the midst of a hot summer^ to 
get away to the sea;, the very bricks of the house cry out and 
mock us in our discomfort. 

On the whole it appears probable that the principle which 
obtains in these cases holds good throughout all the pur- 
posive thought processes of our mental life. In trains of 
thought where we almost lose ourselves in complete revery, 
as well as in those prolonged and strenuous mental operations 
by means of which we solve the more serious problems^ prac- 
tical or theoretical^ with which our pathway is beset;, in these 
and in all the intermediary transitional forms agreeable 
feeling is the accompaniment of such ideas as further our 
momentary interests; disagreeableness^ on the other hand^ is 
the mark of those which obstruct or thwart those interests. 



CHAPTER XIV 

FEELING AND THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF 
AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 

Classifications of Feeling. — We are now in a position to 
recognise the fact that all forms of the cognitive activities 
are characterised at times by marked affective qualities. Our 
feelings may^ therefore^ be brought for classification under 
any of the several main forms of the knowledge process. lii 
point of fact the usual classifications of feeling are actually 
based upon these cognitive factors^ and we may profitably ex- 
amine some of the principal divisions which are secured in 
this way^ although we must remember that they are very 
misleading groupings if they are understood as arising pri- 
marily from peculiarities of the affective element in such 
complex feelings. 

Sensuous and Intellectual Feeling. — Feelings are thus 
divided into sensuous and intellectual, depending upon 
whether they originate in, and chiefly terminate in, sense 
organ activities, or in central processes, like imagination. 
We, have already seen that the affective part of such feelings, 
the agreeableness or disagreeableness, is probably one and the 
same, whatever their immediate occasion. It is, however, un- 
doubtedly true, as our discussion in the early part of the pre- 
vious chapter implied, that many feelings which belong to 
sensory processes are relatively confined in their significance 
to these immediate activities, whereas the intellectual feelings 
commonly run out into a bearing on larger and more remote 
portions of our mental life. The agreeableness of the taste 
of candy, for instance, or the delight in the fragrance of 

270 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 271 

violets, commonly exhausts itself in the moment of enjoy- 
ment; whereas the pleasure of a fine picture pervades one's 
life long after the picture itself has passed from one's view. 
This distinction must not, however, be unduly magnified if 
the basis for it be laid in the mere part played by the sense 
organ, for it must be remembered that the picture also is seen 
by means of a sense organ. Moreover, the feeling which' the 
picture calls out would commonly be designated aesthetic, 
rather than intellectual. More often, perhaps, the term "^ in- 
tellectual feeling '' is employed to cover such cases as wonder, 
surprise, curiosity, and interest, the apprehension of relations, 
the feeling of ignorance, and the like. The real distinction, 
which is hinted at in this old division of feelings, is one that 
can only be stated correctly when we observe what functions 
various feelings subserve in the life of the organism. And 
to this we shall return shortly. 

Aesthetic, Ethical, Social, and Religious Feeling. — Other 
suggested divisions of feeling are the following: aesthetic, 
ethical, social, and religious. These divisions, like the im- 
mediately preceding one, are evidently based upon differences 
in the objects which call out the feeling, and result in different 
cognitive and emotional activities, rather than upon any dif- 
ferences among the affective elements of the feeling itself. 
Such classifications are undoubtedly suggestive and valuable 
in their indication of the great avenues along which our feel- 
ings are approached. But we must once more carefully guard 
ourselves against the misapprehension that the affective factor 
(which ostensibly constitutes, in the theory of many psycholo- 
gists, the differentia of feeling from other forms of conscious 
process) is in any true sense the basis of the distinction from 
one another of the several types of so-called feeling. These 
classifications are really based upon the possibility of viewing 
all consciousness as internal in its reference, rather than on 
the presence of affective processes, a view to which we shall re- 
turn briefly in the final chapter of this book. The specific 



272 PSYCHOLOGY 

forms of psychical experience which are peculiar to the vari- 
ous classes that have been mentioned can be examined more 
profitably in connection with our study of emotions^ and we 
shall, therefore, postpone their further consideration until 
that time. 

Neural Basis of the Affective Element in Feeling. — In our 
discussion of sensation we observed that the various sensory 
qualities depend upon the action of specific end-organs. We 
have now seen that the affective processes may occur in con- 
nection with any of the sensational or ideational activities. 
And the question naturally arises as to their neural basis. 
Unfortunately our positive and detailed knowledge about the 
matter is lamentably incomplete. The theory, however, 
which enjoys widest currency at the present time maintains 
that the two antithetical forms of affection represent the 
fundamental modes in which any neural activity may go on. 
They do not depend, therefore, as sensations and ideas pri- 
marily do, upon the action of specific segments of the 
nervous system; they are rather the counterparts of the 
manner in which the whole nervous system is affected by the 
activity initiated in any segment at a particular time. From 
this point of view pleasure is correlated with physiologically 
useful and wholesome activities; pain and disagreeable- 
ness with the physiologically harmful. Thus, the theory 
would find the neural explanation for the unpleasant char- 
acter of dazzling lights and loud, shrill sounds in the manner 
in which the nervous system as a whole is affected by the re- 
action from these violent stimulations of the optic and the 
auditory tracts respectively. The nervous action is conceived 
as being of a definite form, which is qualitatively similar for 
all disagreeable or injurious stimuli, but quantitatively dif- 
ferent for stimuli of varying intensity or varying harmfulness. 
As these peripheral sensory tracts, when they are active, always 
influence more or less directly the whole nervous system, the 
2-ffective reaction represents in reality the effect of the particu- 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 273 

lar stimuli upon the whole organism. The agreeableness of a 
musical chord or a sweet odour would, on the basis of this 
theory, be referable to a normal and efficient reaction of the 
nerves ; the disagreeableness of a discord or a nauseous odour 
would, on the other hand, J&nd its explanation neurally in an 
excessive or internally mal-adapted reaction of the organism. 

We shall accept the validity of the general conception un- 
derlying this theory, although we have to admit that its pre- 
cise meaning is often found to be vague when we insist upon 
detailed facts confirmatory of its contention. Moreover, 
there are some facts which lend themselves to incorporation 
in the theory only with extreme difficulty. We can best get 
an insight into the more important considerations by revert- 
ing to our fundamental conception of the purpose and signifi- 
cance of consciousness in organic life — a conception which we 
have stated so often as to render repetition superfluous. 

General Significance of Affective Consciousness. — Agree- 
ableness and disagreeableness are the immediate indices of the 
significance for the organism of the various stimuli and re- 
sponses which enter its experience. Evidently some such 
marks, or signs, in consciousness of the value of particular 
objects or movements are indispensable to the execution by 
mental processes of the part we have assigned to them. The 
sign in consciousness of the organically advantageous might 
very well have been something different from the experience 
we now name pleasure, and the sign of harmfulness might 
have been other than that which we now recognise as pain and 
disagreeableness. But some such symbols there must be, if 
consciousness is to steer successfully among new sourroundings 
and in strange environments. If it were necessary to await 
the loss of one^s eyesight before discovering that dazzling lights 
were injurious, consciousness would certainly be little more 
than a pernicious aggravation. As a matter of fact such 
stimulations are instantly felt as disagreeable, and the mind 
without further information has forthwith a guide to the kind 



274 PSYCHOLOGY 

of action appropriate to the occasion. Similarly as regards 
agreeable experiences. When one is tired and hungry after 
fatigue and exposure to cold;, any food may seem welcome, but 
warm and well-flavoured food tastes best and will be preferred 
when choice is possible. In such cases one needs no further 
experience than is afforded by a specimen of the cold and the 
warm food to recognise which is more agreeable. 

So fundamental is this significance of the affective proc- 
esses in all those activities immediately connected with the 
maintenance of life in the individual and the race, that sev- 
eral psychologists of repute have defended the thesis that 
pleasure and displeasure are the primordial forms of con- 
sciousness, the other processes connected with the special 
senses being of later origin. It is interesting in this connec- 
tion to note that one writer has assigned displeasure as the 
original form of consciousness; another, pleasure; while a 
third has advocated the hypothesis that the two appeared 
together in advance of other modes of consciousness. 

If space permitted, we might examine the evidence for these 
several points of view, but as this is out of the question, we 
may remark provisionally that if our analysis of the affective 
features of consciousness has been thus far correct, we cannot 
assent to any of the theories just mentioned. It may well be 
that with the more rudimentary types of mind the affective 
factors of consciousness dominate over the distinctly sensory 
and ideational. It may be, too, that the first appearance of 
consciousness is in connection with the operation of the pain 
nerves, though this is wholly problematical. ^ But affection, 
as we know it (and we have no right to go afield from such 
knowledge) is apparently not a form of consciousness inde- 
pendent of sensations and ideas. Quite the contrary; it in- 
variably appears clearly in connection with them ; whereas the 
sensations and ideas are occasionally wholly, or all but wholly, 
destitute of affective tone. Meantime, it should be reasonably 
certain that agreeableness and disagreeableness — as signs of 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 275 

the immediate import for the organism of particular moments 
of experience — are indispensable elements in the successful 
functioning of consciousness. As Bain puts it, pleasure rep- 
resents a heightening, and pain a lowering, of some or all of 
the vital processes, and consciousness is in this way given im- 
mediate information of the nature of the situation. We may 
accept Bain^s formula in a general way, although it is far 
from clear that a raising of vitality is always the immediate 
autcome of pleasure, and a lowering of it an immediate con- 
sequence of discomfort. 

Marshall has put the matter somewhat differently, in a 
manner which certainly fits many of the facts most admir- 
ably. He connects pleasurable experience with the use of 
stored-up nervous energy in amounts less than that actually 
available, whereas unpleasant experience he connects with the 
use of nervous energy beyond the limits of the normal modes 
of functioning. We shall revert to this again. Miinsterberg 
connects pleasantness and unpleasantness, respectively, with 
movements of extensor and flexor muscles, with expansion 
and contraction of the organism, a view which certainly has, 
despite its suggestiveness, only a very general and indefinite 
basis. 

Physiological Expressions of Feeling-Tone. — In connec- 
tion with this general theor}^ of agreeableness and disagree- 
ableness as expressions respectively of the increase or decrease 
in organic vigour, certain investigators have reported constant 
and definite physiological changes accompanying the antith- 
eses of affective tone. Pleasurable experiences are thus 
said to cause dilation of the peripheral blood-vessels, de- 
creased rate in the heart beat, increased depth of breathing, 
and heightened tonus of all the voluntary muscles. Dis- 
agreeable experiences on the other hand are said to produce 
constriction of the peripheral blood-vessels, and in generaj a 
set of physiological phenomena exactly opposite to those just 
mentioned as arising from pleasure. Several competent ex- 



276 PSYCHOLOGY 

perimentalists have failed to confirm these observations^ and 
the phenomena are apparently verifiable only under certain 
very definite and normally infrequent conditions. Meantime, 
there can be no question that all the vital processes, including 
those of assimilation, secretion, and excretion, are profoundly 
influenced by intense affective conditions. The only question 
is whether they are always affected in the same way by the 
same conscious tone. We shall have occasion to emphasise 
certain of these phenomena when we examine the emotions. 

Genesis of the Affective Elements of Consciousness.— Fol- 
lowing our method in previous cases we may ask, first, under 
what conditions affection makes its earliest appearance. So 
far as concerns the life history of any given individual, we 
may say that affection is undoubtedly coincident in its mani- 
festations with the dawn of consciousness. The cry with 
which the child draws its first breath has led to the assertion 
that life begins, as well as ends, in pain. However this may 
be, there is every reason to think that the mental life of the 
new-born babe is for many days one of vague sensory con- 
sciousness, dominated by relatively vivid antitheses of agree- 
ableness and disagreeableness. Certainly the earliest expres- 
sions of infants suggest nothing so strongly as pleasure and 
pain. 

If we inquire more closely into the conditions under which 
expressions of satisfaction and dissatisfaction arise, we find 
that they align themselves very suggestively with the doctrine 
which we have repeatedly formulated regarding the origin of 
consciousness in general. When the child is cold or hungry 
consciousness is called into play, for the organism does not 
possess, in its inherited mechanism of reflexes and automatic 
movements, any device adequate to cope with these difficulties. 
But the materials of voluntary muscular control have not as 
yet been acquired, and so the intense dammed-up nervous 
currents break over into the few pervious pathways of the 
quasi-reflex type. The crying muscles are liberally repre- 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 277 

sented here, and the child^s lamentation, which summons 
parental assistance, is the outcome of this motor escapement. 
If there were no damming up of the nervous currents, if the 
stimulus represented by the cold immediately resulted in re- 
leasing efficient motor reactions, there is no reason to suppose 
consciousness would be aroused. This, however, is not the 
ease. The stimulations are there, and they become more and 
more insistent. The conditions for the appearance of con- 
sciousness are, therefore, at hand, and if we may judge by 
external expressions it promptly comes to life. But it is 
confronted with a situation with which it cannot immediately 
deal. It is reduced to the condition of a spectator conscious 
of an unnamed, yet imperious need, but almost powerless to 
render assistance. Now, whenever we encounter such cir- 
cumstances as these, we shall always find that the affective 
tone is one of unpleasantness. 

In very young babes instances of definite pleasure are 
somewhat more difficult to secure. The child spends most of 
its time in relatively deep sleep, and the expressions of grati- 
fication which it manifests are, for several days at least, 
ambiguous. When such expressions do appear, they are apt ' 
to be in connection with the satisfaction of hunger. They 
seem to represent a kind of ratification on the part of con- 
sciousness of the activities which have been indulged to 
relieve hunger. Indeed, if we may judge by external ap- 
pearances, supported by our knowledge of the conditions in 
adult life, the whole of this process of allaying hunger, as 
well as the final stage of satiety, is agreeable. The case is 
extremely interesting in the apparent contrast which it offers 
to the conditions of maturity. Prior to the securing of con- 
trol over the voluntary muscles, the function of consciousness 
is necessarily in large measure that of an approving or dis- 
approving onlooker, who has little power to make his opinions 
felt in action. 

We have noted the conditions under which painfully toned 



278 PSYCHOLOGY 

consciousness is produced. It would seem at first sight as 
though these must be synonymous with all those circum- 
stances in which obstacles were to be overcome^ and therefore 
synonymous with all those cases where consciousness would 
be required. This position is, however, only tenable provided 
we disregard the obvious fact that the organism is in course 
of development, and that at this early stage, when voluntary 
movements are not yet under control, the total significance 
of the various factors in its life is not superficially obvious. 
Disagreeableness is undoubtedly the counterpart of continued 
inability to cope with a demand laid upon the organism, and 
the degree of unpleasantness is roughly paralleled by the 
insistence and the poignancy of the demand. Agreeableness, 
on the other hand, is the psychical counterpart of effective 
modes of reaction to a situation. When the situation is being 
adequately met, therefore, we may expect to find pleasure ap- 
pearing, whether the successful response has come as a result 
of definite voluntary acts, as it may in adult life, or as a 
result in part of outside assistance, as it does in the early days 
of infancy. 

Why Consciousness Is So Often Neutrally Toned. — The 
question then suggests itself as to why we are not more vividly 
aware of agreeableness in the normal activities of every-day 
life. These activities involve more or less of voluntary co- 
ordinations, which for the most part go on efficiently, and 
should consequently, from the point of view we have adopted, 
produce pleasurable results in consciousness. We have in- 
timated that as a matter of fact a large part of our mental 
life is neutrally toned. The reply to this query is, therefore, 
that in so far as we are provided with healthy bodily proc- 
esses, and in so far as we are engaged in the effective solution 
of problems which confront us, our consciousness is agreeable 
in tone. But large parts of our daily undertakings are of a 
routine character which verges upon habit, and in con- 
sequence require little vigorous conscious attention, and 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 279 

therefore call out little affective reaction. Moreover^ it 
frequently happens that although our mental operations are 
efficiently executed from the standpoint of practical results^ 
some of our intra-organic processes are slightly indisposed, 
and inasmuch as our consciousness reflects the totality of our 
organic condition, we find ourselves either experiencing very 
little pleasure, or else feeling positive discomfort. 

General Theory of Affective Processes. — It is evidently im- 
possible, therefore, to state the conditions under which agree- 
ableness or disagreeableness is produced, by reference to any 
single set of activities with which our cognitive and volitional 
processes may be engaged. Consciousness always reflects more 
than a single group of such activities, and its affective char- 
acter is always dependent upon the whole gamut of physio- 
logical operations going on at any given moment. Under 
conditions of perfect health we may often predict with much 
accuracy what the affective results of a given stimulus may 
be, because we know that ordinarily it will stimulate moder- 
ately a well-nourished nerve tract. But unusual neural con- 
ditions in any part of the organism may lead to the falsifying 
of our predictions at any time. The melody which charmed 
us to-day may irritate us to-morrow, and this, not because the 
melody, or the auditory nerve, has either of them changed in 
the meantime, but simply because the digestive processes 
which yesterday were orderly are to-day chaotic. We see, 
therefore, that our provisional formulations in the previous 
chapter were too simple to account for all the facts. 

The evidence thus far examined points to the belief that 
disagreeableness always appears in infancy, as well as in 
adult life, in connection either with (1) diseased conditions 
of the organism, or (2) with excessive neural stimulation, or 
(3) with the checking and impeding of consciousness in its 
efforts to guide action. The third point may prove to be 
identical with the second. It is certainlv identical in some 
instances. The function of the unpleasant in consciousness 



28o PSYCHOLOGY 

is^ then^ evidently to furnish an immediate and nnambignous 
index of conditions which menace the welfare of the organism. 
Agreeableness appears in connection with (1) healthful or- 
ganic conditions^ (2) the stimulation of nerves inside the 
limits of their ability to respond with maximal vigour^ and (3) 
the free and unobstructed flow of consciousness^ whatever its 
object. The obvious function of agreeableness is consequently 
found in the furnishing of immediate exponents of organic 
welfare. Neither agreeableness nor disagreeableness are un- 
ambiguously prophetic. Their important function is in the 
present. Their meaning for the future requires the light of 
intelligence and experience. The frenzied delights of a 
Bacchanalian orgy are certainly no reliable harbingers of 
healthy nor are the pangs of the morrow necessarily indicative 
of inevitable future disaster. We may now advantageously 
examine a few typical instances of affective consciousness^ in 
order to test the adequacy of our principle. 

The agreeableness and disagreeableness which arise re- 
spectively from healthful or diseased conditions of the 
organism hardly require comment. The organic feelings of a 
strong, well-fed organism are distinctly buoyant and pleasant ; 
whereas the depression of dyspepsia, the tedious discomfort 
of a severe cold, etc., are almost unmitigatedly disagreeable. 
.The moderate stimulation of the sense organs by simple 
stimuli is normally agreeable, and their excessive stimulation 
normally disagreeable. The pleasure of exercise and the 
unpleasantness of extreme fatigue, the agreeableness of mod- 
erately intense simple colours and tones, and the disagree- 
ableness of those which are very intense, ■ afford instances 
which we might multiply indefinitely.* 

* Acquired tastes and the correlative loss of liking for certain 
objects constitute interesting instances of the development which 
goes on in the organism in connection with affective phenomena. 
It seems probable as regards the acquirement of tastes, that in the 
case of gustatory sensations at least, certain organic changes in 
the neutral activities take place, by means of which stimuli, 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 281 

The intellectual processes involved in grappling with a 
problem in which we are interested are normally agreeable 
so long as we seem to be making progress. They speedily 
become exasperating if we seem to be getting nowhere; and 
if our minds, by reason of fatigue, distraction, or any other 
cause, refuse to bring to our aid the ideas which we feel are 
needed, the operation may become intolerable. 

When our emotions are vigorously enlisted in such reflective 
processes the agreeableness or disagreeableness may be ex- 
tremely intense. Thus to many persons reflections upon 
immortality, upon the mercy of God, and other religious ideas 
may be profoundly uplifting and deeply gratifying so long 
as the mind meets with no obstacle in working out its concep- 
tions. On the other hand, the mental agony experienced in 
reaching the belief that immortality is unreal is to many 
minds all but unbearable. In aesthetic pleasures the situation 
is ordinarily complicated by the presence of both sensory and 
intellectual factors. A beautiful picture not only appeals 
through its richness of colouring and its grace of line to the 
immediately sensory activities, it also suggests to us ideas 
which take hold of our sentiments, our emotions, and our in- 
telligence, setting up in us strong tendencies to motor reac- 
tions of one or another kind. 

Application of the Principles to Aesthetic Experience. — 
It seems fairly certain that those aesthetic objects which we 
adjudge agreeable comply with the second of our principles 
in the moderate stimulation of neural processes which are 
more than adequate to the demands laid upon them. It 
seems also to be true that in such cases the third of our prin- 
ciples is justified. An object which we feel to be beautiful 

which originally produced excessive reaction, are subsequently 
adjusted to. The loss of liking for certain flavours may be due 
to a similar adaptation by means of which the agreeableness 
of the stimulation passes away, or to an excessive stimulation, 
which finally overflows into other neural tracts, producing 
reflexes of the nausea type. 



~^ 



282 PSYCHOLOGY 

sets up ideational reactions which are unimpeded, focalised, 
and definite. The picture, if it be a picture, means some- 
thing fairly definite and real to us. On the other hand, 
pictures which displease or fail to interest us are either 
unpleasant as regards their colour, — in which case we prob- 
ably have either inadequate or excessive optical stimulation 
of some kind, — or they are faulty in drawing, or confused in 
meaning, so that our minds either feel a discrepancy be- 
tween what is portrayed and what is suggested, or else are 
left thwarted and baffled. 

The case of music is one in which to most of us, did we 
but acknowledge the truth, the sensory element, with its 
immediate motor effects, is at a maximum, and the idea- 
tional at a minimum. But it seems difficult to find an in- 
stance of aesthetic experience which does not readily enough 
conform to our principles. On the whole, then, we may 
accept these principles, provisionally at least, as indicative of 
the general facts about the conditions for the appearance 
of affective reactions, and as suggesting their fundamental 
significance. We shall now go on to see, in connection with 
our study of instinct, emotion, and volition, how these affec- 
tive phases of our consciousness actually enter into the deter- 
mination of our acts and our character. We can in that way 
make out most clearly the manner in which they enter into the 
cognitive operations which we have previously discussed. 



CHAPTEE XV 
EEFLEX ACTIOX AND INSTIXCT 

Motor Aspect of Conscious Processes. — We come now to 
study the group of motor powers by means of which the 
psychophysical organism is enabled to guide its own move- 
ments^ and so to control in a measure its own fate. In many 
of the discussions which have gone before it has been neces- 
sary to assume that these muscular reactions were occurring, 
but their intimate nature we have been obliged to overlook. 
As a matter of fact all the mental operations which we have 
analysed have their ultimate significance and their final out- 
come in precisely these motor activities. In reality, there- 
fore, all our previous study has been upon these reactions, for 
it has all had to do with their immediate psychophysical ante- 
cedents, which are functionally a part of them. Ifeverthe- 
less, it is essential that we should examine the motor 
phenomena in and of themselves, and much more exhaust- 
ively than hitherto. We shall turn, first, to the earliest 
forms of muscular activity which we find in the human 
being, and then proceed to study the more highly developed 
forms which characterise a later period. 

Primitive Motor Capacities. — A survey of the motor equip- 
ment of a new-born babe discloses the fact, as we have previ- 
ously seen, that a certain number of automatic and reflex 
coordinations are already provided for at birth. The auto- 
matic activities of respiration, circulation, and digestion are 
carried on from the first. The reflexes involved in sucking, 
crying, and clasping the fingers about objects placed in them 

283 



284 PSYCHOLOGY 

also take place. But aside from these, the child^s motor 
capacities are potential, rather than actual. This slender 
store of motor accomplishments finds its explanation in the 
undeveloped condition of the nervous system at birth. 

Meagre as is this array of hereditary motor coordinations 
to which we have referred, it suffices, with parental assist- 
ance, to keep the child alive until the appearance of more 
adequate adjustments. Moreover, it bears striking evidence 
to the fact, were any demonstration of it necessary, that the 
human organism is exactly like that of the lower animals, 
whose instinctive activities are often sources of so much won- 
der, in that it possesses at birth preformed pathways in the 
nervous system, by means of which sensory stimulations may 
discharge in effective movements of accommodation. The 
primordial form of motor control over the environment is, 
then, so far as concerns the human infant, to be found in 
hereditary reflexes. 

Early Motor Development. — Development goes forward at 
such a tremendous rate that it is difficult to follow with en- 
tire confidence the course of motor events during the first 
year or two of a child^s life. But certain of the most 
important transitions from the conditions we have just 
described occur commonly during the first three or four 
months, and we may in passing profitably remark upon the 
general nature of this change. Afterward we shall go back 
to look for the appearance of other forms of automatic, reflex, 
and instinctive acts, which we have seen to be the primitive 
types of motor activity. We shall find evidences of their 
development at periods covering a considerable portion of 
the time of organic growth. Furthermore, we shall find that, 
in a modified form, the instincts remain throughout life as 
fundamentally important factors in the evolution of volition 
and in the foundation of character. 

The point to which we wish to call attention for a moment 
is illustrated by the growth of the hand and eye control. At 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 285 

the outset the eyes are generally destitute of all orderliness of 
movement. They move independently of one another^ and 
with no special reference to objects in the field of view. In 
the course of the first few weeks, however, they begin to move 
together, to converge, and gradually to show a tendency to 
follow moving objects. At this time the child loses its 
original blank stare, and from time to time fixates objects 
with a totally new expression of countenance. About the 
time that this accomplishment is achieved the hand begins 
to show a definite development. It explores objects with 
which it is in contact. The thumb, which at the beginning 
took little or no part in clasping, is now brought into 
operation, and the things grasped are moved about in a 
fairly well coordinated manner. The next step in advance is 
characteristic of all development in motor control, and con- 
sists in the conjoining of the two previously independent 
coordinations of hand and eye. The eye is now able to 
follow the hand, and the hand is able to give the eye objects 
for inspection. 

We shall come back with more of detail to this type of inter- 
coordination of acquired forms of control in our analysis of 
voluntary action. Meantime, it will be helpful to bear in 
mind that once a coordination, like the eye-coordination, is 
gotten under command, it is promptly incorporated as a mem- 
ber of a larger coordination, such as the eye-hand coordina- 
tion, which is in its turn destined to a similar fate in the 
course of evolving conduct. 

Turning back now to a fuller study of the instinctive and 
reflex types of action, we shall find the general trend of events 
to be somewhat as follows : The development of the nervous 
system goes on with astonishing rapidity during the first 
three years, so that the child has, with the exception of the 
sexual processes, practically a full store of reflexes estab- 
lished by the end of that time. Contemporaneous with this 
acquirement of the reflexes occurs the gradual unfolding of 



286 PSYCHOLOGY 

the life of impulse^ and the upbuilding of this into the 
elaborate forms of voluntary action^ which promptly tend to 
become habitual. We must now analyse more carefully the 
details of this process. 

Reflex Action. — A reflex act^ as has been earlier remarked, 
is one in which a muscular movement occurs in immediate 
response to a sensory stimulation without the interposition of 
consciousness. Consciousness is often aroused by reflex 
actions, but the motor reaction is not executed in response to 
conscious motives, and in the more deeply imbedded reflexes 
consciousness is quite powerless to suppress the movement. 
Thus, in winking we may be conscious that the eyelid has 
closed, and at times the movement may be executed volun- 
tarily. But if a cinder or other irritating substance enter 
the eye we may be wholly unable to resist the tendency to 
shut the lids. On the other hand, when we are absorbed in 
reading our eyelids may close dozens of times in the reflex 
way, without our becoming in any definite manner aware 
of the fact. 

Variability of Reflexes. — ^We have already referred many 
times to the (racially) hereditary nature of these reflexes. 
It remains to point out certain other striking facts about 
them. In the first place, they are subject, like all organic 
activities, to the general principles of development. They 
appear from time to time, as the nervous centres ripen, and 
are not all given complete at birth. The more rudimentary 
of them appear within the first few months. Sneezing, 
coughing, and hiccoughing come within the first few days, as 
a rule. Winking comes somewhat later, generally from the 
seventh to the eleventh week. Walking, which is primarily 
based upon refiexes, does not ordinarily begin until the 
twelfth to the eighteenth month or thereabouts, and is gen- 
erally preceded by the creeping movements, which are prob- 
ably partially reflex. Moreover, no one of the reflex acts is, 
at the outset, so well coordinated as it speedily becomes. It 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 287 

is clear that the nervous machinery^ like other machinery, 
requires to be used somewhat before its maximum efficiency 
is available. 

Furthermore, the reflexes vary at times in response to the 
general conditions of the organism. They are not wholly 
dependent in their operation upon the presence of a stimulus. 
The child, for example, when sated, stops sucking. When 
one is nervously wrought up, a slight noise, if unexpected, 
may result in a violent movement; whereas, if one had been 
agreeably absorbed in some occupation, no movement of any 
noticeable kind would have occurred. On the other hand, 
the essentially mechanical nature of the reflex is rendered 
obvious by the impartial way in which such responses are 
often executed, regardless of the desirability of the act at 
the moment. A man wishes his presence to be unobserved 
when in a dangerous situation, and he must needs select that 
occasion to be seized with an irrepressible paroxysm of sneez- 
ing. Again, although one is behind a strong screen, one 
still finds it impossible to avoid winking when any threat- 
ening object is seen approaching close to the eyes. It ap- 
pears, therefore, that whereas the reflexes represent hered- 
itary modifications in the connections of sensory-motor 
activities, — which are undoubtedly indispensable for the main- 
tenance of organically useful reactions, — they may at times, by 
virtue of their mechanical nature, react in injudicious ways; 
and on the other hand, certain of them are unquestionably 
open to modification, either through the direct control of 
consciousness, as when one succeeds in suppressing a tend- 
ency to wink, or through the indirect effect of general organic 
conditions. It is evident, therefore, that reflexes represent 
various degrees of plasticity, but this does not invalidate the 
doctrine that all of them are hereditary in nature, and that 
on the whole they contribute distinctly to the general ef- 
ficiency of those adaptive reactions which the organism 
makes upon its surroundings. 



288 ^ PSYCHOLOGY 

Instincts. — Instincts have an origin "unquestionably simi- 
lar to that of reflexes. They represent structurally pre- 
formed pathways in the nervous system, and stand function- 
ally for effective inherited coordinations made in response to 
environmental demands. It is, perhaps, impossible to draw 
any absolutely sharp line between instincts and reflexes, 
although many principles of demarcation have been proposed. 
On the whole, the most fertile and suggestive working dis- 
tinction seems to be found in the presence or absence of some 
relatively definite end dominating a series of acts. If the 
motor activity is simple, and is discharged in response to 
some objectively present stimulus without conscious guid- 
ance, it will be safe to call the act a reflex. Moreover, some 
reflex acts are essentially unconscious, whereas instincts, in 
the higher animals at all events, appear always to involve 
consciousness. Instincts accordingly depend more largely 
than reflexes upon the operations of the higher brain centres. 
If the activity involves a number of acts, each one of which, 
considered singly and alone, is relatively useless, but all of 
which taken together lead up to some adaptive consequence, 
such as the building of a nest, the feeding of young, etc., it 
will be safe to call the action instinctive. The difference 
thus pointed out is founded theoretically upon the nature of 
the functions subserved by the two types of action, their 
relative immediacy, generality, etc. It sometimes reduces 
in practice to a mere difference apparently of degree, or com- 
plexity, and will be found on further examination to involve, 
generally at all events, a difference in the intra-organic con- 
ditions leading to the two forms of reaction. It must be 
frankly confessed, however, that many cases are discoverable 
in which all distinctions seem arbitrary and fictitious. Too 
much stress should not be laid, therefore, upon the matter of 
ultimate differences. It is rather upon the identity of serv- 
ice to the organism that the emphasis should fall, with the 
added recognition that such service may be rendered in 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 289 

thousands of ways, whose interrelations may well baffle our 
clumsy and ill-informed attempts at classification. 

Modifications of Instincts. — Instincts resemble reflexes in 
their susceptibility to modifications through experience;, and 
also in their appearance in connection with definite stages in 
the development of the nervous system. Experience operates 
in two opposite directions. If the first expression of an in- 
stinct chances to be disastrous^, and results in pain or fright, 
the instinct may be either temporarily, or permanently, 
inhibited. Thus, chicks, which possess the instinctive tend- 
ency to peck at food, are said to suppress this tendency when 
bad-tasting food is given them. On the other hand, if the 
instinctive action is successful and produces agreeable organic 
results, it tends at once to become ingrained as a habit. In 
all creatures which possess even rudimentary forms of con- 
scious memory instincts must, therefore, speedily lose their 
original and wholly blind character. The tendencies to in- 
stinctive reactions must, in such creatures, very early set up 
organic reminiscences of the previous consequences of their 
indulgence; and these reminiscent traces must lead either to 
inhibitory movements or to responses of the habit type, in 
which the outcome must be in some vague way forecast. 

Suppression of Instincts. — Instincts not only appear at 
definite points in the growth of the nervous system, but cer- 
tain of them may also atrophy and disappear, provided that 
at the crucial period the appropriate conditions are not at 
hand to call them out and fix them as habits. Illustrations 
of the periodic nature of development in instincts are familiar 
to everyone. The puppy cannot swim, the older dog can, 
and he does it instinctively. The bird displays no tendency 
to nest-building until a certain maturity is attained, and 
instances of a similar kind might be multiplied indefinitely. 
The abolition of an instinct by failure to secure expression 
at the correct time is shown in the case of chickens, which 
tend at first to follow any moving object. Ordinarily nature 



290 PSYCHOLOGY 

provides^, of course^ that this object shall be the maternal hen. 
If the opportunity to translate this instinct into a habit is 
not afforded^ the instinct dies within a few days^ and there- 
after commonly cannot be reestablished. 

Instinct, Experience, and Reason. — The relatively flexible 
and plastic nature of instincts which is suggested by the 
foregoing observations finds additional confirmation in the 
innumerable instances in which intelligence^ or unexpected 
and unusual environment, come in to exercise modifications. 
In the earlier views of instinct we always find it contrasted 
with reason^ as though the two were radically distinct. The 
keener insight of our own time shows us that although reason 
represents the individuaFs contribution to his own fate in 
terms of his own experience, while instinct represents the 
contribution of racial experience, the actual operation of the 
two factors often displays most intimate interrelations. 
This is peculiarly true of all the higher animals, and 
especially man. Indeed, the great difficulty in studying in- 
stinct in human beings is due to the fact that intelligence 
immediately comes in to transform the native reactions in 
accordance with the dictates of the individuaPs personal 
experience. 

Even in the lower animals, however, individual experience 
exercises a guiding influence over the particular forms of 
instinctive expression^, although in many of these cases we 
must speak very conservatively as to the manner and measure 
in which consciousness participates. Whatever the explan- 
ation of the modus operandi, there can be no doubt that birds 
and insects such as bees and wasps and ants often modify 
their instinctive methods of nest-building in a most remark- 
able manner when the exigencies of local conditions require 
such modification. On the other hand^ instincts are often 
carried out in a bungling fashion^ and in the face of circum- 
stances clearly fatal to their successful issue. The well- 
known disposition of certain dogs and squirrels to attempt. 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 291 

with elaborate efforts at diggings the burying of their bones 
or nuts when confined upon hard board floors illustrates 
the occasional futility of irrepressible instincts. The clas- 
sical observations of the Peckhams upon bees and wasps afford 
striking instances of instincts misdirected at some crucial 
moment. They report^, for instance^ that wasps frequently 
prepare a nest carefully for the reception of the food store 
and then seal it up empty. 

The obvious implication of such observations is that we 
have to do in the phenomena of instinct^ as these appear in the 
several genera and species of the organic kingdom^ with an 
overwhelming variety of reactions^ all of which evidently 
emanate from the same type of ancestral source; but with 
indefinite and unpredictable susceptibility to modifications 
from environing conditions^ and with an equally uncertain 
submission to conscious guidance. In so highly evolved a 
nervous system as that possessed by the human being we may 
naturally anticipate a very considerable number of these 
ancestral tendencies, and we must also expect to find them 
very promptly submerged in motor activities under the con- 
trol of consciousness. These expectations seem to be fully 
realised by the actual facts. 

Origin of Instincts. — Although everyone is agreed that 
instincts are racial habits transmitted by heredity to the 
particular individual, there has been wide difference of 
opinion regarding the precise manner in which they origin- 
ally became established. The questions here at issue are 
clearly in large part biological in nature, and this is, there- 
fore, evidently the reason why we find that the authoritative 
names connected with the conspicuous theories are chiefly those 
of great naturalists. Two fundamentally opposing views have 
until recently held the field. One is commonly known as the 
theory of lapsed intelligence. The American biologist. Cope, 
was an eminent defender of this view, which regards in- 
stincts as organically fixed habits which were originally in- 



/ 



292 PSYCHOLOGY 

telligent adaptive acts partaking of the general character of 
volition. Wnndt has been a distinguished adherent of this 
view among psychologists. The second theory is known as 
the reflex theory, and its basal contention is that instincts 
are simply accumulated reflex adjustments, explicable in 
their survival by the general principle of natural selection, 
which tends to weed out accumulations, however acquired, 
which are not preservative in their effect. Spencer and Weis- 
mann are representative adherents of two sub-forms of this 
theory. 

The first theory has been criticised as making too great de- 
mands on our credulity concerning the amount of intelli- 
gence displayed by primitive forms of consciousness, and also 
on the score of defective evidence for the transmission of 
acquired characteristics. The second theory has been held 
vulnerable in its inability to explain how groups of reflex 
movements could have been slowly built up, when only the 
final step in the process rendered the chain really useful. A 
recent modification of these views, for which J. M. Baldwin 
stands sponsor among psychologists, is known as the theory 
of organic selection. 

Theory of Organic Selection. — The crucial point in this 
theory is the supposition that even tentative and imperfect 
accommodation, with or without conscious direction, may 
serve to preserve the life of a species during the critical 
period when the instinct in its entirety is forming, and thus 
give it opportunity to become permanently imbedded in the 
organism as both a structural and functional attribute. 
Whether this view succeeds in weathering the storms of crit- 
icism or not, it is at least a highly ingenious and suggestive 
modification of the two previously extant views. It seems 
to contain what was most significant in both, while avoiding 
the more obvious pitfalls belonging to each. It gives scope 
for the play of intelligence in assisting in the formation of 
useful reactions, without going to the indefensible extreme of 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 293 

assuming that all valuable coordinations have had such in- 
telligent origin. On the other hand^ it offers a practicable 
hypothesis as to the manner in which movements of essentially 
reflex character may have been become chained together in 
instinctive reactions. 

Function of Instinct. — Despite the differences which have 
characterised the opinions of the most acute biologists as 
to the origin of instincts, there is no divergence of opinion 
as to their function. They represent, by common consent, 
those forms of reaction upon the environment which the race 
has found most effective in maintaining itself against the 
rigours of climate and geographical habitat, and against the 
assaults of various forms of animal life. So far, therefore, as 
we may find traces of true instincts in human beings, we may 
know that we are confronted with tendencies which represent 
racial experiences, with reactions which express the pressure 
of untold ages of men engaged in the struggle for existence. 
It should, in the light of such considerations, afford us no 
astonishment to find that some reactions have been preserved, 
which are either useless at present or even somewhat posi- 
tively disadvantageous. Moreover, remembering the complex 
conditions of our organic structure, we may well expect that 
certain of these instinctive reactions may possess their chief 
value and significance in the intra-organic physiological 
changes which they bring about, rather than in movements 
primarily affecting objects in the environment. Both these 
anticipations we shall find fulfilled. 



CHAPTEE XVI 
THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 

The Distinction Between Native and Acquired Forms of 
Reaction. — We come now to examine the general scope and 
character of human instincts^, and we are at once confronted 
with the concrete difficulties previously mentioned^ i, e., the 
difficulty of distinguishing the genuinely instinctive and 
hereditary reactions from the merely habitual^ or from the 
acquired. Fortunately^ there are certain great basal in- 
stinctive activities which we find appearing in children long 
before they have had sufficient experience to enable themx to 
execute such reactions on the basis of volition; and^ further- 
more^ there is a considerable group of reactions which -all of 
us manifest that appeal to us when our attention is called to 
the matter as being native and untutored^ as all but wholly 
devoid of purposeful conscious guidance. With these as a 
clue we may at least make a beginning in our catalogue^ and 
from their analysis secure hints as to other similar instinctive 
traits. 

In all properly constituted babies anger and fear are in 
evidence^ with their appropriate motor expressions^ long be- 
fore experience has afforded opportunity to observe and 
copy these reactions in others. They are^, therefore^ unques- 
tionably native. It may;, however^ be said^, that these are 
emotional processes^ and not instincts. Half of this 
contention is true and half is false. Anger and fear are 
instincts^ and they are also emotions. Each involves a 
series of somewhat elaborate organic activities, and these 
are all of +^^he unpremeditated hereditary type. They pos- 

294 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 295 

sess^ however, in addition to these motor characteristics 
perfectly definite conscious concomitants, and to the con- 
scious part of the whole process we commonly give the 
name emotion. We shall return to a detailed consideration 
of emotions in the next chapter. Meantime, we find that in 
anger the brows are wrinkled, the face ordinarily crimson, the 
veins gorged and prominent, the nostrils dilated, the lips 
drawn back and the teeth set, the hands clenched, the body 
tense, and the voice harsh. In extreme fear we meet with 
pallor and trembling, spasm of the heart, diarrhoea, the ap- 
pearance of goose-flesh, cold sweat, bristling of the hair, dry- 
ness of the month, choking, paralysis of the voice, or hoarse 
screaming, together with tendencies to flight, coupled with a 
feeling of weakness. These reactions are called out precisely 
as the instinctive reactions in animals, i. e., by the presence 
of appropriate stimuli. So far as consciousness is involved in 
them, the striking thing is the headlong fashion in which we 
find ourselves plunged into a vortex of intense impulsive 
feeling, compelling us to acts the consequences of which, in 
their first expressions, anyhow, are wholly unforeseen. 

Utility of Instinctive Reactions. — The utility of such ex- 
pressions may well arouse one^s curiosity. In the case of 
anger some of the movements evidently have a " use ^' value, 
provided actual combat is necessary or desirable. But the 
trembling of fear, whatever may be said of the tendencies 
to flight, is a questionable organic asset for an individual 
wishing to react most effectively upon menacing surround- 
ings. It must be admitted frankly that some of the motor 
responses displayed in emotional and instinctive discharges 
are unintelligible at present from the standpoint of utility. 
The attempt has often been made to refer the preserva- 
tion of such acts as have no obvious value for the con- 
quest of the environment, and even, perhaps, a deleterious 
influence upon this task, to their physiological usefulness in 
restoring disturbed organic conditions. Thus, the gorging of 



296 PSYCHOLOGY 

the blood vessels in anger^ the secretion of tears in grief^ the 
laughter in response to wit and humour^ have sometimes been 
held to assist in relieving the abnormal circulatory conditions 
in the brain set up by the several emotional experiences. Of 
such explanations one can only say that they serve^ at least 
temporarily, decently to cloak our ignorance. IsTevertheless, 
there seems to be in the meantime no hesitation in any im- 
portant quarter in accepting the general hypothesis already 
mentioned, that these racial habits which we designate emo- 
tions and instincts represent types of reaction which were 
useful at some time in the past history of the race, however 
problematical their usefulness may be at present. 

Genetic Interrelations of Instincts. — The precise order 
in which the great mass of instincts make their debut is a 
difficult problem, and one for which it is, perhaps, not al- 
together profitable to undertake a solution. It seems prob- 
able that rudimentary forms of most of the instincts are 
encountered at a very early date, whereas the occasion for 
the expression of the matured reaction may be long post- 
poned. Eibot has made it clear that in general those in- 
stinctive activities, such as fear and anger, which have to 
do most immediately with the maintenance of the physiologi- 
cal organism, and to which he gives the name of " egotistical 
emotions,^^ are the first to appear in infancy and the last to 
disappear in old age or before the ravages of mental disease. 
The more altruistic emotions and instincts are for the most 
part found in a developed condition much later. Thus, sym- 
pathy, in unequivocal form, anyhow, occurs only with some 
considerable mental development. Indeed, it has sometimes 
been questioned whether sympathy is truly instinctive at all, 
whether it does not rather reflect the conclusions of intelli- 
gent consideration. But on the whole there seems no good 
reason to cavil at the evidences of its native character, es- 
pecially as we can discern its seeming presence in certain 
animals. 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 297 

List of Human Instincts. — Waiving, then, the question 
of the order of appearance, we find the generally recognised 
instincts in man to be as follows: Pear, anger, shyness, 
curiosity, affection, sexual love, jealousy and envy, rivalry, 
sociabilit}^, sympathy, modesty (?), play, imitation, construc- 
tiveness, secretiveness, and acquisitiveness. 

Many authorities would add hunting to this list, and it 
must be admitted that in many races, and in many individ- 
uals of all races, it gives strong indications of a funda- 
mentally instinctive nature. It is, however, so honeycombed 
with the effects of experience, and so irregular in its ap- 
pearance, that it may fairly be given a position among the 
disintegrating instincts. Walking and talking are also in- 
cluded by many writers. Whether they shall be counted in 
or not is, as we have already observed, simply a question of 
classification. We may call them either chained refiexes or 
instincts, according to the criterion which we adopt for our 
divisions. James has added cleanliness to his list, and there 
are some facts which point to the correctness of this view, 
both in its application to men and to animals. But it is at 
best a very imperfect and erratic trait, as any mother of 
normal children can testify, and we may omit it in con- 
sideration of the necessary brevity of our discussion. We 
shall similarly forego any description of sjonpathy and 
modesty. 

A perusal of our list brings at once to notice the union of 
instinct and emotion. A part of the terms apply primarily 
to acts, and so connect themselves with the common implica- 
tion of the term instinct; whereas the other part suggests 
much more immediately the conscious feelings characteristic 
of the several forms of emotional experience. Imitation, 
play, and constructiveness are examples of the first kind of 
term; fear, anger, and jealousy illustrate the second. A few 
comments upon each of the instincts mentioned may serve to 
emphasise helpfully the typical conditions under which they 



29^ PSYCHOLOGY 

appear, and the wholly naive^ untutored nature of the motor 
reactions which they manifest. 

Fear. — ^We have already sufficiently described the motor 
phenomena in the case of fear^ and it surely requires no ad- 
ditional argument to convince one of their native and un- 
sophisticated character. It only remains to notice that in 
little children^ despite some irregularity in different indi- 
viduals, the normal provocatives are represented by strange 
objects, frequently by fur, by strange places^, and especially by 
strange people, by being left alone, by darkness, and even 
occasionally by black objects; and by noises, particularly if 
very loud and unfamiliar. In later life, in addition to the 
fear which arises from the presence of actually dangerous situ- 
ations, such as the menace of a great conflagration, many per- 
sons are seized with dizziness and a more or less acute terror 
upon finding themselves on a very high place, even though 
the possibility of falling over is efficiently precluded by rail- 
ings, etc. Others are frightened by anything which verges 
upon the supernatural. Even the cold-blooded materialist of 
polite fiction feels his unsentimental blood curdle just a bit at 
the rehearsal of a thrilling ghost story, and only the possessor 
of practiced nerves can be alone on a dark night in a cemetery, 
or a thick wood, without some " creepiness ^^ of the hair and 
skin. 

All of us are likely to find that in the midst of a violent 
tempest, whether on land or sea, the howling of the wind is a 
distinct source of mental anxiety quite disproportionate to our 
sober, intellectual apprehension of its real danger. All these 
things take hold of our racial instincts, and however vigorously 
our individual experience attempts through its cortical ma- 
chinery to put a veto on such nonsense, our lower brain 
centres refuse to abandon their world-old habits, and accord- 
ingly we find that our hearts are beating wildly, our breathing 
coming in gulps, our limbs trembling, the while we look on, 
mortified at the weakness we cannot control. 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 299 

Anger. — Anger has several different forms and the most 
varied provocatives. We are irritated by the tireless piano 
next door^ exasperated by the teasing child^ hurt and vexed 
by the social snnb^ ^i^gry at the open insult;, and perhaps 
moved to enduring hatred by the obnoxious and unscrupulous 
enemy. There is a common emotional vein running through 
all these conditions however much the particular momentary 
expression may vary. Possibly resentment is the best name 
wherewith to label this common factor. The instinctive na- 
ture of the motor reactions requires no further demonstra- 
tion than is furnished by the sight of any little child enjoying 
a tantrum. The explicitly pugnacious element is, under 
civilised surroundings, inconspicuous after childhood is 
passed, despite the tremendous virility it displays if the curb 
be once slackened. The evolution of the race has been notori- 
ously sanguinary, and we should feel no surprise, however 
much of disgust and regret we may entertain, that under the 
excitement of actual combat the old brute should display the 
cloven hoof. The development of so-called civilised codes of 
war affords interesting instances of the effort rational man 
makes to clothe with decency the shame of his own brutish- 
ness. According to the code, women and children may not 
be slaughtered, but it is occasionally lawful to despoil them of 
their flocks and herds, to lay waste their grain, and even to 
burn the roofs above their heads. 

Shyness and Sociability. — The antagonistic instincts to 
which we have given the names shyness and sociability, not 
only appear as genuine hereditary impulses in little children, 
but they also fight, in the case of many persons, a lifelong bat- 
tle for supremacy over the individuaFs habits. Sociability is 
simply an expression of the essentially gregarious nature of 
man. Some men seem destined for membership in a very 
small herd, — two or three at most, — others find their most 
natural surroundings amid large numbers. But the man^or 
child who in one form or another does not natively crave 



300 PSYCHOLOGY 

companionship^ sympathy^ admiration^ and confidence from 
others is essentially insane. Many turn from life and such 
companions as they chance to have attracted with horror and 
disgust^ seeking in God or in some ideal-^f their own imag- 
ination a companionship which shall be fit and satisfying. 
But what is such a turning other than the most pathetic ap- 
peal for true comradeship^ for a real society conformable with 
the deepest needs of the soul? No^ sociability;, under what- 
ever limitations^ is an expression of the very essence of hu- 
manity ;, and every little child evinces it by shunning solitude. 

What often passes with children for a love of solitude is 
really more truly referable to the operation of the contrary 
instinct of shyness. In the very nature of the case the two 
impulses must always have been in unstable equilibrium so 
long as the drama of human life has been upon the boards. 
A certain measure of suspicion toward the action and pur- 
poses of others must always have been a condition of avoiding 
harm and imposition. On the other hand^, the race is funda- 
mentally gregarious^ and all its greatest achievements have 
come about through cooperative undertakings in which the 
solidarity of the social structure has been a sine qua non. 
The tension between these two instincts^ which we often find 
existing in ourselves^, is no mere idiosyncrasy of our own 
purely personal organisation. It is rather a replica in us of 
a conflict which has been a part of the experience of every 
sane human being that ever lived. 

Sociability finds everywhere its natural expression in smil- 
ing and in bodily attitudes^, or gestures^, which are^ perhaps^, 
best described as obviously non-pugnacious; The secondary 
gestures^ apart from smiling and laughing^ are through imita- 
tion early overlaid with the conventional ceremonials of dif- 
ferent races and peoples. But in babies we find general ex- 
tensor movements of reaching and stretching out of the arms^ 
with eyes wide open and gaze fixed^ head erects and often 
nodding. In shyness the precise reverse is encountered. The 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 30 1 

eyes are averted^ the hands and arms held close to the body^ 
the whole attitude being one of retreat. In older children 
and adults blushing and stammerings or even speechlessness^ 
are common concomitants. Strangers and persons feared or 
venerated are the normal stimulants to shyness. In both 
kinds of reaction the movements are observed before there 
can be any question of conscious imitation. They are accord- 
ingly of undoubtedly instinctive nature. The great diflBculty 
many persons experience in inhibiting the expressions of shy- 
ness also points to a similar conclusion. 

A special form of the generic tendency to sociability is 
found in childish affection for parent or nurse^ and in the 
tender feelings in general which we cherish toward those of 
whom we are fond. It finds its overt manifestation in facial 
expression^ in modulation of voice^ and in caressing gestures 
in general. The instinct is speedily veiled bj^ experiential 
influences^ but it gives every internal evidence of resting upon 
a native impulse^ and its motor indices apparently require no 
artificial training. In childhood its common stimulus is 
found in persons upon whom we are dependent for our daily 
care. It may even extend in a somewhat imperious fashion 
to toys and other possessions intimately associated with child- 
ish cosmology. In mature life its stimulus is extremely com- 
plex^ and baffles brevity of description. In general^ it extends 
to all persons and possessions that we cherish as in some sort 
a part of ourselves. 

Curiosity and Secretiveness. — Curiosity and secretiveness 
are in a measure antithetic impulses^ like shyness and soci- 
ability; they vary immensely in different individuals^ 
but bear^ whenever met with^ unmistakable traces of an 
instinctive origin. Animals afford us abundant instances 
of curiosity, and many methods of hunting are designed to 
take advantage of this tendency. Taken broadly, curiosity is 
simply another name for interest. In its simplest and 
most immediate form it is represented in the vertiginous 



302 PSYCHOLOGY 

fascination which novelty of any kind at times possesses 
for US. The child must pry about until he has fathomed 
the depths of your preoccupation. If asked why he wishes to 
know what you are about, he could give you no rational 
answer, even if he would. He simply knows that he must 
find out what you are doing. That is his feeling, and to ask 
for any deeper reason is itself unreasonable. The staid busi- 
ness man who allows himself to be lured across the street of a 
summer evening by the flaring torch of the street fakir has no 
reputable account to offer of his procedure. Time out of 
mind he has yielded to the same fascinating bait, always to 
find the same old bogus gold watches, the same improbable 
jewelry, the same nauseous medicines, passing out into the 
capacious maw of the great gullible public. Curiosity is the 
racial instinct to which our sedate citizen is yielding, and that 
is all there is to the matter. In this simple form the motor 
expression is found in the alert and wide-open eyes, the parted 
lips, the attentive ear, the general attitude of readiness to 
react to any lead. In its more intellectual phases we shall 
consider it under the head of interest in a later chapter. 

Secretiveness will by many readers be thought unwar- 
rantedly introduced as an instinct. It is not usually of suf- 
ficient consequence to justify any extended defence of its 
instinctive nature. But as a special form of shyness, at least, 
it deserves a word. It seems to be a development of those 
instincts among animals which lead them to render them- 
selves as inconspicuous as possible. Certain insects and birds 
frequent haunts in which the surroundings, whether vegeta- 
tion or earth, are of a colour similar to their own. In a 
corresponding fashion many persons feel an ineradicable im- 
pulse to conceal their plans, their actions, and their character 
behind a screen of non-committal silence and reserve. The 
impulse has no necessary connection with the preservation of 
a consciously defined personal dignity. It extends quite as 
forcefully to the suppression of all publicity touching the 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^3 

trivial as it does to the concealment of the momentous. 
Taciturnity is its commonest expression — if this formulation 
is not itself a paradox. Its irrational impulsive character is 
the mark which stamps it instinctive. Many of us are at 
times secretive of fixed and consciously recognised design. 
But the sort of thing of which we are here speaking is tem- 
peramental and may be felt in the absence of all explicit 
justification. 

Acquisitiveness. — The instinct which we have called ac- 
quisitiveness appears chameleon-wise in many colours and 
under various conditions. As a primitive expression of the 
recognition of personal property it is one of the earliest and 
most tempestuous of innate reactions. It commonly gets a 
bad name at this time, and is often undiscriminatingly en- 
titled selfishness. Certainlv the distinction between meum 
and tuum is one for which every child betrays a remarkable 
precocity, although the precocity is commonly much more 
evident in the emphasising of meum than in the recognition 
of tuum. But however perverted the moral perspective, the 
thing is there in the form of an impulse to get hold of, and 
keep, and guard, something — anything. The particular ob- 
jects which call it out are altogether incidental to the mo- 
mentary' surroundings and to the age of the special individual. 
With boys in the '' marble age ^^ '' glassies ^^ and '' alleys ^^ are 
the recipients of the passion. A little later it may be ribbons 
bestowed by, or purloined from, the young ladies of the hour ; 
presently it is stocks and bonds and real estate. Ifow these 
things are many of them sought for ulterior ends consciously 
apprehended. But through the whole drama runs the in- 
stinctive thread, the impulse to acquisition, binding the whole 
together into a vital tale of human impulse striving after 
gratification. So far as it can be said to possess relatively 
fixed motor expressions, they are to be found in the elabo- 
rations of the infantile reaching and grasping, with the facial 
expressioDL of ^lert, tejise interest, and the intra-organic dis- 



304 PSYCHOLOGY 

turbances which generally accompany such excitement. The 
impulse takes its origin, however, from so many forms of 
stimulations that a perfectly fixed and inflexible motor indi- 
cation of it is hardly to be expected. 

Rivalry. — Closely connected with acquisitiveness is the 
instinct of rivalry, or emulation. It is intimately allied to 
play and imitation in its origin, and it easily runs to excess 
in anger, hate, jealousy, and envy. Its stimulus is apparently 
found in the successful achievements of anyone coming within 
our own social circle, by virtue of which we are likely to be 
relegated to inferior positions. If one happens to be a bank 
clerk one feels no rivalry instigated by the promotion of the 
janitor, but the advancement of one^s fellow clerk is quite an- 
other matter. 

The small boy views with unmixed admiration the skill of 
the professional ball-player, but the performances of his rival 
for a place on the school nine stir his blood in quite a different 
way. So far as concerns the voluntary m_uscles, the expres- 
sion of this impulse has about it hardly anything fixed save 
the vigour and energy which go into their use when stung by 
the prick of rivalry. 

As we intimated a few lines above, emulation is readily 
transformed into anger, and this fact points to a kinship 
which has undoubtedly in the history of racial evolution been 
most significant. Among the lower animals fighting is a 
constant and fundamental factor in life history. Under the 
ameliorating conditions of civilisation mankind has managed 
in large measure either to eliminate this element from human 
life or so to change its complexion as to shade its more 
brutal features, and to substitute for bloodshed and carnage 
the starvation and bankruptcy which emanates from unsuc- 
cessful competition. In so far, therefore, as rivalry repre- 
sents the survival in modern life of the old fighting propensi- 
ties, we must look in it for the vestigial evidences of tumult 
and excitement, of emotional tension, v/hich have always char- 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^5 

acterised the struggle for existence. ISTeedless to say, we find 
them in abundance^ and hence it is that emnlation so easily 
leads to the more unworthy instinctive expressions; hence it 
is that so much of moral dignity attaches to him who can feel 
and cherish rivalry without sacrificing his highest ethical 
ideals of integrity and respect for others. 

Jealousy and Envy. — Viewed merely as natural impulses, 
jealousy and envy are sufficiently alike to render a separate 
mention of each unnecessary. Envy is generally applied to 
our covetousness of the prosperity or possessions of others. 
This covetousness is often accompanied, as in jealousy, by 
more or less malignity. Jealousy we commonly apply to a 
similar feeling toward persons who are our supposed rivals, 
whether actually successful or simply feared. Both animals 
and little children manifest jealousy, and no one can question 
that the depth of the feeling, together with these facts, points 
to its springing from a racially hereditary source. Its char- 
acteristic expressions are similar to those of anger and hatred, 
but commonly occur in milder form. 

Sexual Instincts.— Among the most imperious of our im- 
pulses are undoubtedly those connected with sex. The 
approach to sexual maturity is usually attended by very deep- 
seated organic changes, and these are refiected in a marked 
development of the whole emotional nature. It is in this 
fact that we find an explanation of the definite bent which 
is often imparted to character at this time, leading in certain 
instances to a life-long devotion to ideals which are lofty and 
habits which are pure, and in other instances to perversion 
and debasement of the entire moral nature. This is the great 
formative period, the storm and stress period, of the moral 
life. The delineation of the basal facts in the birth and de- 
velopment of love between the sexes has been accomplished so 
perfectly in the great poems and tales of passion as to render 
futile and superfluous any such brief outline as would-be 
possible here. 



3o6 PSYCHOLOGY 

Parental Love. — Parental love is a far stronger impulse in 
the mother than in the f ather^, as a rule. It is unquestionably 
instinctive in the mother^ is given most lavishly during the 
infancy and childhood of the offsprings but commonly remains 
to the end one of the majestic forces in the history of human- 
ity. Its expressions are partly those of caressing tenderness 
and partly those of protection and prescient regard for thef 
needs of the child. .|^: 

Play. — We come now to speak of the three instincts re-^^^ 
maining upon our list^ i. e., play^ imitation^ and constructive-^** 
ness. They are by no means synonymous, but their connec- 
tion is so intimate, and their significance for the development 
of the child so similar and so important, that we shall consider 
them together, and at some length. 

In little children the impulse to play is practically identical 
with the impulse to use the voluntary muscles. Indeed, the 
definition of play which enjoys widest currency at the present 
moment identifies it with the free, pleasurable, and spon- 
taneous activity of the voluntary muscles. For all periods 
after those of early childhood, say subsequent to seven years 
of age, there is an increasing disposition to contrast play with 
work, and to ascribe to the former a certain lack of serious- 
ness. But with little children this lack of seriousness exists 
only for the sophisticated onlooker. To the child himself his 
playing is the '^ real thing.^^ It has all the seriousness which 
the child is able to reflect in his activities at the time. 

The two most imiportant theories regarding play are, per- 
haps, those advocated respectively by Spencer and Groos. 
The former regards play as representing a discharge of sur- 
plus organic energy. The latter considers it as an impul- 
sive function serving to call into being those activities which 
presently are to be required in the strenuous conflicts of life. 
Play has its biological significance, therefore, in the discipline 
which it affords. So far from finding it necessary to choose 
one or the other of these theories, reflection suggests that they 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^7 

are entirely reconcilable and distinctly supplementary to one 
another. It may be that the impulse to play has its racial 
significance in the opportunity which it affords for the exer- 
cise of those forms of coordinated movement which adult life 
demands. It may^ indeed^ owe its preservation in hereditary 
form to just this circumstance. And it may^ nevertheless^ be 
also true that in its expression at any specific time the im- 
j)iilse really represents the tapping of reservoirs of surplus 
energy. These alternatives seem altogether probable^ and 
they serve to connect the obvious present vitality and utility 
of the play impulse with adequate genetic and historical 
causes. 

Imitation. — As the play impulse actually is observed in its 
development;, it early takes on certain imitative characteristics^ 
and at a slightly later date, perhaps, gives evidence of deserv- 
ing the name constructive. As in the case of play, we must 
distinguish several stages or phases in the imitative reactions. 
There is without much question a purely instinctive form of 
imitation in which, without anj^- necessar)^ conscious purpose 
to imitate, acts of others are repeated as accurately as possible. 
This is conspicuously true of the earlier speech activities, in 
which the sensations of the vocal sounds made bv others seem 
to discharge immediately, in an almost reflex manner, in ar- 
ticulatorv reactions more or less closelv resembling the stimu- 
lus. At a later period, however, there is a definitely conscious 
purpose to repeat sounds, and this kind of conscious imitation 
characterises a large part of the educational process in young 
children. Indeed, the only propriety in mentioning it in this 
chapter, so explicitly volitional is it, arises, first, from its 
possession oi:^ compelling fascination for the minds of all 
normal children, and, second, from its striking similarity to 
the genuinely instinctive form mentioned above. The name 
" suggestive imitation ^^ has been given to such acts as appear 
imitative to an observer but are not necessarily felt to be so 
by tlie imitator, A recrudescence of the more purely in-. 



3o8 PSYCHOLOGY 

stinctive tjipe is exhibited in the loss of individual initiative 
and inhibition in the case of mob action and the movement of 
crowds^ where one falls in, almost unaware, with the purposes 
and impulses of the mass. "'^ Plastic imitation ^^ has been 
suggested as a distinguishing name for this class of cases. 

Constructiveness. — In childhood constructiveness is hardly 
more than a convenient term to specify one of the aspects of 
play. Children delight in the making of things out of their 
toys, and this may properly be called constructiveness, even 
in those cases where a carping parental economy might de- 
scribe the impulse as one of destructiveness. Pulling a 
feather-duster to pieces to make a nursery Indian may not 
commend itself highly to the presiding guardian as an evi- 
dence of constructive tendencies, but psychologically it is 
quite as truly entitled to rank here as the activity by means 
of which the precocious child converts the paternal cigar- 
box into the inlaid maternal glove-box. Its shortcomings 
as a constructive performance are ethical and economic, not 
psychological. In later adult life constructiveness, so far as 
it is separable from volitional activities exercised under the 
stress of fear, pride, or other similar emoti'ons, becomes inti- 
mately connected with the impulses of artisanship and crafts- 
manship, in which a native intellectual interest finds a con- 
genial and appropriate channel of expression by means of 
native deftness in specific forms of manual manipulation. 
This later type undoubtedly has in it much that is genuinely 
impulsive, but it is so overlaid with the effects of experience 
that it will not be profitable for us to dwell longer upon it. 

Relation of Play, Imitation, and Constructiveness. — It 
surely requires no complicated demonstration to prove that 
these three last-mentioned impulses — play, imitation, and 
constructiveness — interlace with one another in almost inex- 
tricable ways. Much of the strictly impulsive element in con- 
structiveness, if not, indeed, all of it, is play, pure and simple. 
Many of the plays of children, commonly so recognised, are 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 3^9 

of a distinctly constructive character. The child building a 
house from his blocks is, from his own point of view, much 
more truly described as engaged in construction than as en- 
gaged in play. The conscious " make-believe ^^ of many plays, 
and the simulation of fictitious situations, is seldom obvious 
in the earlier plays of little children. Imitation is often sim- 
ply a designation for a specific mode of reaction which the 
special play calls forth, and many games have their point in 
feats of imitation. Constructive impulses are more often 
than not dependent for their expression in the first instance 
upon patterns which determine the mould in which the child 
casts his activities. Little children running after larger chil- 
dren, they know not why, the boy trying to use a hammer as he 
has seen his father do, the girl playing at setting the table as 
she has seen her mother do — these and a hundred other in- 
stances illustrative of these points will immediately come to 
mind. We shall revert to the development of these native 
modes of reaction in our account of the growth of volitional 
control. It must suffice here to have pointed out the native 
organic nature of these expressions. The occasions for their 
appearance are evidently found wherever a situation affords 
opportunity for a vigorous organism to react spontaneously 
and agreeably with movements indicative of control and 
power. 



CHAPTEE XVII 
NATURE OP IMPULSE 

Throughout the whole of the preceding chapter^ so far as 
we have dealt with facts of consciousness^ we have had con- 
stantly before onr notice impulses of one or another kind. 
Impulse is^ then^ from the psychologists standpoint unques- 
tionably the cardinal fact about instincts. The residuum is 
a matter of physiology and biology. It is a mere matter of 
neural mechanisms. But so far as we have impulse we have 
a definite psychical factor^ and we must examine it somewhat 
more intimately. 

Impulse and Movement. — Etymologically considered^ an 
impulse is anything which '' pushes along.^^ We have re- 
peatedly observed the tendency of all forms of consciousness 
to pass over into movements^ and there can be no doubt that 
in this sense at least all states of consciousness are naturally 
impulsive in character. Left to itself^, any mental condition 
would convert itself at once into some kind of muscular move- 
ment. This is peculiarly true of direct sensory impressions^ 
which, as we saw in the chapters on sensation and attention, 
tend, so far as we give them undivided attention, to set up 
immediate motor responses. It is, however, equally true of 
images and other centrally aroused psychoses, so far as we 
become absorbingly attentive to them. If we have reference, 
then, primarily to the consequences which follow upon men- 
tal states, there seems to be no obvious exception to the rule 
that they all tend toward muscular movements, and are, 
therefore, all intrinsically impulsive. 

310 



NATURE OF IMPULSE 31 1 

This fact must not, however, be interpreted as meaning 
that all states of mind reveal these motor consequences in 
equal measure, nor that the impulsive element in them is in- 
susceptible of further analysis. Quite the contrary. The 
disposition to make certain movements is much more marked 
in cases of anger than in cases of reluctant choice after de- 
liberation. Moreover, the whole psychosis in anger may be 
much more intense than in the other case, and we may, there- 
fore, be much more vividly aware of these tendencies. It is 
evident, consequently, that, viewing the matter introspectively, 
we have to recognise the existence of very different degrees of 
impulsiveness in our immediate feelings of disposition to 
movement. The feeling may be very distinct and acute, or 
it may be so faint and insignificant as to have hardly any 
existence save the hypothetical one to which our whole ob- 
servation of conscious operations has committed us. 

Development of Impulse. — Furthermore, we shall at once 
remark another important distinction if we note the changes 
accruing from the development of the individuals experi- 
ence. The first time that one of the strong racial impulses is 
felt, the individual's consciousness contains little or no an- 
ticipation of what is about to occur. He is simply aware of 
an unusual thrill, a passing unrest, which comes to him dis- 
closed in part by muscular movements — half mechanical in 
their nature. But the inner meaning of his experience is at 
the moment, perhaps, wholly problematic to him. He is a 
stranger to himself. How true to the facts this statement is 
many persons will readily admit by recalling some of the 
strange, acute mental disturbances of their own adolescent 
period. The child screaming with fright for the first time is 
likely to harbour no little shame over the event afterward 
because of its startling strangeness to him. The youth smit- 
ten with his first infatuation is a constant source of wonder 
to himself. He has become suddenlv aware of a multitude 
of feelings which before were inexistent for him. But all 



312 PSYCHOLOGY 

these impulses, once they have been experienced^ are thereby 
forever changed. They may retain^ as many of them do, a 
prodigious intensity and vitality, but thenceforth they have 
lost a part of their mystery. We know at least so much of 
what they mean as to anticipate the acts to which they tend 
to lead. From this time forth we become increasingly aware 
of the objects which are calling them into being and of the 
consequences to which they lead. The impulses tend, there- 
fore, to become more and more sophisticated. They become 
illuminated with a knowledge of their meaning, and the im- 
mediacy of our feeling and our unrestrained disposition to 
reaction are lost forever after the original, unsullied reaction. 
The conscious portion of the instinctive life is modified by 
growth and experience quite as truly as the purely motor and 
physiological parts of it. 

Consciousness of Impulse. — We have seen that even though 
we admit impulse as a feature characterising all forms of 
mental activity, we have also to acknowledge very different 
degrees in the intensity of this impulsiveness, and very dif- 
ferent conditions surrounding its expression. We may ob- 
serve a further similar peculiarity belonging to those reac- 
tions which we most commonly regard as instinctive. We 
may call the play impulse definitely instinctive, and so give 
it rank among those expressions of our motor dispositions of 
which we are most keenly and unambiguously conscious. But 
it requires no elaborate demonstration to prove that we are 
most distinctly cognisant of the impulsive nature of this re- 
action when for any reason its expression is hampered or 
checked. Moreover, a little observation would bring the con- 
viction that this is a general principle applicable all along the 
line. We can hardly be said to be conscious of the impulse, 
as an impulse, if the conditions are all ripe for its immediate 
translation into movement. Under such conditions we are 
absorbed in the object of our doing, in the acty in the con- 
sequences, with their thousand ramifications. But the im- 



NATURE OF IMPULSE S^S 

pulse to act^ as such, we are hardly aware of in any genuine 
sense, unless something impedes the impulsive movement. 
Then we promptly become aware of tense muscles, of thwarted 
execution. Then we are really conscious of the impulse, and 
we are made conscious of it by means of the nascent and in- 
cipient movements to which it has actually given rise. As 
a matter of fact, few of our impulsive tendencies ever find the 
opportunity to run wholly free and unconstrained. But so far 
as they do, we find we have lost consciousness of the impulse, 
as such. We encounter no exception at this juncture, then, to 
the facts which we have in the earlier part of the book so often 
emphasised, i. e., the fact that consciousness appears at those 
points where there is friction of one kind or another in the 
purely physiological mechanisms of adjustment. 

Types of Impulse. — It remains to comment upon an ex- 
tremely important distinction among -the various forms of 
impulse. Certain of these seem to be practically invariable in 
their appearance in all human beings, and they show them- 
selves in the form of relatively fixed forms of movement. 
These are the instinctive reactions in the strictest sense of the 
phrase. In this category belong such activities as fear and 
anger. Certain other impulses are essentially universal but 
still somewhat less uniform in their appearance than the pre- 
ceding class. These impulses have a far more variable form 
of expression. Here belong the reactions we call play, imi- 
tation in certain forms, parental love, etc. Both these classes 
of impulses give every evidence of a racial origin. But the 
first type is evidentl}^ the more stable and more deeply im- 
pressed upon the organism. Over against these two classes 
of impulsive acts — the first of which are properly called in- 
stincts, in which the individual is expressing the pressure of 
racial experience— are to be set the residual conscious activi- 
ties, which are all impulsive, as we have seen, in the sense in 
which this indicates their relation to movement. These latter 
forms of consciousness are, however, representative of the 



~-l 



314 PSYCHOLOGY 

processes by means of which^ on the foundation of his racial 
patrimony^ the individual builds up his own adaptive re- 
sponses to his environment. The antitheses^ then^ are on both 
the physiological and the psychological side to be found be- 
tween impulse as hereditary , and founded on inherited neural 
structure, and impulse as individual and reflective of innate 
personal disposition. The first factor represents the element 
of conservation and habit, the second the element of variation 
and progress. 



CHAPTEE XVIII 
THE NATUEE OP EMOTION" 

Distinction Between Emotion and Instinct. — Our previous 
study has already brought us into contact with emotion, once 
in our analysis of feeling, and again in our examination of 
instinct. But it still remains for us to discover more exactly 
the peculiarities of this form of mental experience, and 
especially to point out its functional significance in the 
economy of conscious life. 

Although as they appear in human beings instinct and 
emotion are both psychophysical processes, the term " in- 
stinct ^^ refers primarily to physiological phenomena, and the 
term " emotion '^ to psychological. This is brought out in 
James^ statement that " an emotion is a tendency to feel, and 
an instinct is a tendency to act characteristically when in 
the presence of a certain object in the environment.^^ As 
psychologists we are accordingly under obligation to describe 
the salient features of these hereditary feelings which accom- 
pany the instinctive activities. In the last chapter we found 
that impulse is present in all instincts, and we exhibited some 
of the modifications which the impulsive feelings undergo. 
We must now scrutinise certain other equally important 
features of the emotional psychosis. 

When we feel ourselves in the grasp of any of the more 
powerful emotions, such as fear or anger or grief, we imme- 
diately refer the experience in toto to the object which is, as 
we say, its cause. We say we are afraid of the lightning, we 
are angry with our defamer, we are grief -stricken at the death 

315 



3l6 . PSYCHOLOGY 

of a beloved friend. In this way we come naturally enough to 
identify the emotion with our consciousness of its immediate 
provocative^ and this fact has often served to becloud the real 
psychological constitution of these experiences. Thanks to 
the acumen of two contemporary psychologists^ James and 
Lange^ we can now describe more precisely than formerly cer- 
tain of the psychical conditions indigenous to these states of 
consciousness. 

Physiological Accompaniments of Emotion.— Let us take 
the case of a person who is extremely timid about thunder- 
storms. Such a person may be thrown into a paroxysm of 
fear by the sight of an ominous cloud approaching. More- 
over^ after the storm has bursty every flash of lightning and 
every clap of thunder may serve as a fresh source for the 
waves of terror which surge over the shrinking soul. Now 
in such a case the usual description of the mental experience 
would connect the fear immediately with the perception of the 
cloud and with the several perceptions of lightning, and thun- 
der. The mere perception itself would be accredited with the 
instant arousal^ without further intermediation^ of the emo- 
tion of fear. Following the arousal of fear^, and serving as 
expressions of it^ would be enumerated the several motor re- 
actions which the individual might manifest^ e, g., trembling 
palings palpitation of the hearty, etc, N"ow^ it need not be 
questioned that such perceptions as these suggested are per- 
ceptions of terrifying objects recognised forthwith as such. 
But the authors to whom, we have referred have pointed out^ 
with a wealth of illustrative detail, that the motor activities 
just mentioned occur in an essentially reflex way immediately 
upon the perception of the emotional stimulus. These mus- 
cular reactions necessarily initiate at once afferent neural cur- 
rents, which set up sensory and affective disturbances that 
are promptly reported in consciousness. The Lange-James 
view insists, therefore, that all accurate introspective observa- 
tion of such experiences reveals the emotion of fear as a con- 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 3^7 

scious state in which these motor reactions are represented as 
essential and integral parts. We may apprehend an object in 
a cold-blooded and self-controlled way as terrifying and dan- 
gerous. This is a common experience among policemen, fire- 
men, and soldiers of a certain temperament. But we never 
feel afraid unless we have already made certain of the motor 
reactions which characterise fear. If the heart remains un- 
disturbed in its pulsations, if the distribution of the blood 
in the various parts of the body is not markedly changed, 
if the breathing is not affected, if we do not tremble, 
it matters not how clearly we may appreciate the danger of 
the situation, nor how dangerous the situation may be, the 
total complex feeling, the emotion, of fear is not ours. These 
movements, then, which common description accredits with 
the expression of the emotion, are not merely expressions, 
they are rather indispensable causal factors producing the 
psychical condition which we all recognise when we experience 
it as the genuine emotion. 

The psychological constitution of the emotion of fear is 
typical of all the strong emotions which lend themselves 
readily to introspective observation. In each one the organic 
reverberation which is produced by the emotional stimulus 
enters into consciousness to give it its characteristic emotional 
colouring and to mark it off from other modes of mental activ- 
ity. In anger we ordinarily find the breathing disturbed, the 
circulation irregular, and many of the voluntary muscles, e. g., 
those of the hands and face, tense and rigid. These muscular 
movements are inevitably reported by distinct modifications 
in the tone of consciousness. In grief an opposite type of 
muscular condition is met with, i. g., depression of motor 
tonicity throughout most of the system, but with an equally 
inevitable reaction upon the conscious mood. 

Emotions are, therefore, extremely complex processes, so 
far, at least, as regards the organic activities which condition 
them. In emotions we are not only conscious of the emotional 



3i8 PSYCHOLOGY 

object^ as in ordinary perceptual acts^ we are also overwhelmed 
by a mass of sensational and affective elements brought about 
by the intra-organic activities of our own musculature. The 
prominence of the affective factors to which we have referred 
in our account of feeling is in large part referable to the 
hyper-normal^ or subnormal^ activity set up in the muscles of 
the respiratory^ circulatory^ and digestive systems. It will be 
remembered that under most conditions we are entirely un- 
conscious of these processes. Only under rather unusual cir- 
cumstances^ involving some vivid form of stimulation^ do they 
intrude themselves. But such circumstances^ we have al- 
ready observed^ are precisely those to which affective tone 
almost inevitably attaches^ and we have forthwith an obvious 
reason for the conspicuously affective character of the 
emotions. 

Reply to a Criticism. — It may be said that however true 
our account of the organic activities involved in emotional 
psychoses^ it is^ nevertheless^ a false description of the facts 
to say that we are conscious in any explicit way of these 
functions of our bodily selves. Our consciousness^ it is al- 
leged^ is absorbed in the object of the emotion; we are hyp- 
notised by the impending calamity^ transfixed in contemplation 
of our gaucherie, swept away by the sally of wit, etc. The 
bodily movements are things of which we have little or no 
distinct mental report. The emotion^ consequently, however 
much entangled with motor activities it may prove to be, 
cannot be spoken of as consisting in a consciousness of these 
movements. The point at issue in this contention rests 
upon a misapprehension of the principle defended in this 
chapter. It is not maintained that the emotion of fear is 
made up of a consciousness of some terrifying object, say a 
serpent, plus the consciousness of a palpitating heart, plus 
the consciousness of shaking limbs. The assertion is, that 
our consciousness of the serpent is modified by all the sensory- 
motor activities going on in the body at the moment, just as 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 3^9 

is the case in less noticeable degree with every perception. It 
is further asserted that the motor activities which do occur 
at such times are characteristic and relatively fixed^ and m 
consequence lead to relatively fixed psychical surroundings 
for any perceptual acts revealing terrifying objects. To 
state it in neural terms^ we may say that the cerebral cortex 
is a kind of resonance board for the whole organism^ and that 
emotional stimuli produce definite and fairly constant motor 
reactions^ which are echoed by the cortex. Our attention may^ 
then^ be more or less absorbed in the object of any given 
emotion, but the total mental state is conditioned quite as 
truly by the sensory consequences of the hereditary motor dis- 
turbances as it is by the special sensory activity reporting the 
object. These motor disturbances constitute in James' terms 
a characteristic ^^ fringe '^ for the emotional stimulus. 

Significance of Emotion. — We must next inquire into the 
special significance of the emotional life, and discover, if pos- 
sible, the reasons for its peculiarities. In emotion we are 
apparently confronted with a case in which now and again 
consciousness takes on an unusual intensity. Can we find in 
our analysis of its intrinsic characteristics, or in our observa- 
tion of the circumstances under which it becomes manifest, 
any explanation of this phenomenon ? We may at least make 
the attempt. 

Fear. — If we examine a series of emotional situations, such 
as we find in grief, anger, fear, embarrassment, and pity, we 
shall discover that in one particular they all agree. In each 
and every case conscious activity is thrown backward and 
inward upon itself instead of going forward in the form of 
well-adjusted processes of control. This condition may last 
only a moment, or it may run on indefinitely. In one form 
or another, however, it is the distinguishing mark of all 
emotional conditions. For example, I am sitting at my desk 
writing, oblivious of the storm without. Suddenly a blind- 
ing flash and a deafening noise, followed by the sound of 



320 PSYCHOLOGY 

falling walls^ breaks in upon me. Unquestionably, I am 
thoroughly frightened. For a moment or two I am all but 
paralysed mentally. My attitude is one of cowering con- 
templation. In a vague, terror-stricken way I wonder what 
is coming next. I may have started to my feet^ but that is 
almost a reflex act, and certainly evinces no special intelli- 
gence, for I am perhaps quite as well off, and quite as useful, 
seated as standing. In a moment the paroxysm has passed 
off and I start forth to see what damage has been done. So 
long, however, as the fear was in the ascendency my mental 
activity was of the most futile, inefficient character. At 
great conflagrations, where persons become panic-stricken 
under the continued influence of terror, a similar thing is 
observed. Either they sit cowering in a half-dazed condition, 
or they rush madly and aimlessly about. Eational conduct 
has fled, and consciousness has become almost extinct, or else 
a mere riot of impulses. 

Embarrassment. — In profound embarrassment everyone 
who is capable of the emotion will recognise the applicability 
of our description. We find ourselves speechless, not simply 
because the mouth is dry and the tongue paralysed, but also 
because our thoughts have fled. We have been suddenly re- 
duced to the mental condition of a vegetable, growing rooted 
to the spot where we stand, a vital mass destitute of informing 
intelligence. 

Grief and Anger. — The prostrating effect of deep grief is 
nowhere more flagrant and more distressing than in the total 
inability of the mind to get away from the source of its sor- 
row and take up the direction of necessary activities. For a 
person deeply afflicted, freedom of will and action is a sheer 
delusion. The mind refuses to operate, save in reiterated 
contemplation of its loss. In anger^ on the other hand^ it 
may be at first supposed that mental and motor activity are 
alike enhanced, rather than otherwise. But this impression 
proves erroneous upon a closer inspection of the facts. The 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 321 

immediate and instantaneous effect of anger is precisely like 
that of the other emotions we have just mentioned^ i, e., the 
temporary checking of directive conscious processes. The 
checking is often only momentary^ and is then frequently 
followed by a torrential motor discharge of a more or less 
efficient kind^ which readily serves to obscure the preceding 
and invariable inhibition. In children one often sees this 
latent period^ during which the storm is getting up its destruc- 
tive forces. Presently the apoplectic silence is broken by an 
outburst^ which harks back in its violence to periods long 
antecedent to the dawn of civilisation. 

Emotion a Phenomenon of Interrupted Conscious Action. — 
This break in the adaptive movements under the supervision 
of consciousness^ which we should observe in all emotions if 
we took time to analyse all of them, is reflected in the organic 
reactions which we have already described. The stimulations 
to which consciousness is responding from moment to moment 
must drain off through motor channels of some kind. So long 
as they do not possess emotional vividness they call forth 
either simple reflex responses, or habitual coordinations un- 
der conscious control. The moment the stimulus takes on 
an emotional hue, however, as we have just seen, the guidance 
of consciousness is more or less abridged; the motor channels 
of acquired coordinated voluntary movements are consequently 
somewhat obstructed, and the only alternative is an overflow 
of the nervous currents into the involuntary pathways and 
the instinctive hereditary pathways of the voluntary system. 
On the neural side, therefore, the profuse motor reaction in 
emotion represents the discharge of dammed-up impulses 
which cannot find egress through the sluice-ways of ordinary 
voluntary movements. 

Meaning of the Interruption and Overflow. — Taken in their 
entirety, what do these two great bodies of fact point to, re- 
garding the function of emotion, i. e., (1) the temporary sus- 
pension of voluntary control in the forward movement of con- 



322 PSYCHOLOGY 

sciousness^ and (2) the overflow of motor impulses into 
channels leading partly to the involuntary muscles and partly 
through hereditary influences to the voluntary system? 
Stated differently: what makes a situation emotional and 
why does it lead to these results which we have designated? 
Conditions Upon Which the Appearance of Emotion De- 
pends. — We seem entitled to conclude that any situation is 
emotional in which an impediment to the ongoing activity 
is encountered so serious as to break up the progress 
of the consciously directed coordinations occurring at the 
moment^ and of a character requiring a definitely new adaptive 
reaction of consciousness in order to surmount it. The case 
represents in a way the very conditions under which we found 
consciousness first coming to light. An individual we may 
suppose is going about his business^ doing one thing or an- 
other^ for which he has already attained accurate coordinated 
reactions. He is considering^ perhaps^, the wisdom of a cer- 
tain purchase while his hand writes out a communication 
upon the subject. Here we have conscious direction of com- 
mercial activities through the motor coordinations of the hand. 
A telegram is put before him reporting the failure of his bank 
and the loss of his fortune. Such an event may or may not 
cause an emotion. It depends on the individual^ not on the 
event. But if it does produce an emotion^ thei^e will instantly 

A 

be a break in his coordinated and consciously directed move- 
ments. The writing will cease^, he may gasp^ and drop back 
in his chair^ his mind may refuse to work for a few moments^ 
and he must accommodate himself to the new situation^ rep- 
resented by the idea of his loss^ before he can act intelligently. 
The news contained in the despatch has simply erected a 
mental barrier across the path of his letter-writing. Con- 
sciousness cannot instantly adapt itself to the new situation, 
and in the meantime the motor energy overflows in what we 
call the expressions of emotion. 

If it be true that consciousness tends to appear where the 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 323 

reflex and hereditary responses of the organism are inade- 
quate to cope with the demands of the environment^ we may 
say with equal truth that emotions appear whenever there is 
conflict among the motor impulses called forth by any special 
situation. Both cases demand fresh adjustments of con- 
sciousness for the securing of efficient action. The significance 
of emotion as a fact of consciousness would seem^ therefore, 
to be resident in this monitory function^ represented by its 
compelling announcement of needed adjustments^ its report 
of unstable equilibrium. At all events this is evidently the 
part it plays, be its teleology what it may, and obviously this 
conflict with an impediment in the course of carrying 
out coordinated activities is the universal occasion of its 
appearance. 

Such a view as this flnds its most immediate and striking 
confirmation in the depressive emotions like fear, grief, and 
embarrassment, but it is not less true of the more sinister 
emotions, such as anger and jealousy, and it seems to be 
obvious enough in certain moral crises, in which we speak of 
the '^ pangs of conscience.^^ The period of abortive voluntary 
control is often brief, and frequently the resumption of co- 
ordinated action antedates very much the cessation of the 
organic emotional disturbances. One suffering the depths of 
grief may thus take up again the weary round of a blighted 
life, despite the gnawing pain at the heart and the constant 
presence of the face that has gone. When we turn to the 
more mirthful emotions, it may not appear so certain that 
the same principle maintains, yet careful observation will 
assure us that it does. 

Take the case of a man making out his accounts who sud- 
denly learns that he has fallen heir to a million dollars, to a 
grandson, to a beautiful estate, or anything else which he 
may be supposed eagerly to desire. Is his consciousness 
momentarily disconcerted by anything fairly to be called- a 
barrier? Undoubtedly this is so. If the experience is really 



324 PSYCHOLOGY 

unexpected^ so that he gets a distinct thrill of joy from it^ one 
may be sure of finding that his condition is for a little time 
one of genial insanity. Ideas may flow in profuse inco- 
herency. But the nearest approach to coordinated, move- 
ments are those of laughter (one of the channels of undirected 
motor overflow) and the inane movements of hands and feet. 
Not for some moments does it occur to him to telegraph his 
wif e^ to " treat ^^ the assembled company^ or do any other 
intelligent thing. So far as concerns the suppression of 
well-ordered movements and rationally conceived conscious 
processes^ joy is no exception to the other emotions we have 
described. It traverses our common prejudices to designate 
the objects of joy as in any true sense barriers or impedi- 
ments to us. But the " barrier ^^ characteristic of emotions 
only has reference to the processes going forward at the mo- 
ment^ and^ with reference to these^ objects of the joy-produc- 
ing kind are as truly obstacles and interruptions as those 
which occasion grief or fear. 

Our appreciation of wit and humour involves a precisely 
similar form of readjustment. The joke is par excellence the 
typical stimulus provocative of disorganising tendencies in 
our coordinations. We listen to the skilful raconteur^ our 
minds following step by step the evolution of the epic^ and 
then^ presto ! the unexpected occurs^ our minds react to the 
shock with an appreciation of the anomalies of the situation. 
The motor discharge in laughter announces the relief of the 
energy pent up momentarily by the unforeseen denouement^ 
and the total experience constitutes our feeling of the funny^ 
the odd^ or the amusing. 

On the whole^ then^ there seems no reason to question the 
essential validity of this general view of the function of emo- 
tion and the conditions which call it forth. We may^ there- 
fore^ revert with advantage to certain points in our analysis 
of instinct which must be brought into connection with our 
theory of emotion. 



CHAPTER XIX 
GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 

Further Relations of Emotion and Instinct. — We noticed 
in a previous chapter that our instinctive reactions are accom- 
panied by consciousness^ and we observed further that the 
consciousness is of the kind which is commonly designated 
emotional. We did not^ however^ point out the further fact 
that this emotional element varies very greatly in the several 
kinds of instinctive activities which we discussed. This 
variation characterises not only the qualitative features of the 
emotion^ but especially and conspicuously the intensity of the 
mental disturbance. After the considerations of the last 
chapter^ it is unnecessary to elaborate upon the vivid and 
tumultuous nature of the conscious processes in anger^ fear^ 
grief, and the reactions of this type. We observed in the 
cases cited that much of the stinging intensity of the experi- 
ence is derived from the afferent nervous impulses originat- 
ing in muscular disturbances of the digestive, circulatory, 
and respiratory tracts. On the other hand, in such impul- 
sive operations as imitation and play these intra-organic dis- 
turbances may be largel)^ lacking. The mind is, under such 
conditions, monopolised with the achievement of the objective 
act, and is affected much less definitely by the sensory stimu- 
lations of the systems just mentioned. So far as these sys- 
tems do contribute to modify the condition of consciousness, 
it is in the direction of the creation of a feeling of general 
bodily well-being, emanating from the vigorous normal activi- 
ties of the vital organs. 

We must conclude, therefore, that even though we are 
obliged to admit a minimum measure of emotional tone in all 

325 



326 PSYCHOLOGY 

instinctive or impulsive acts^ which we refer forthwith to the 
bodily resonance aroused by all such acts^ nevertheless^ some 
instinctive activities are markedly emotional^ whereas others 
are not. Those which are obviously of the emotional 
type present instances in which the motor reaction is largely 
confined^ so far at least as concerns its immediate signifi- 
cance^ to intra-organic disturbances. The defensive emotion 
of anger is the only one which regularly reveals any strong 
tendency to pass over into acts producing changes in the sur- 
rounding objects. Such impulses as those of play tend^ on 
the contrary^ to pass immediately over into acts affecting one's 
surroundings. In both the more and the less emotional forms 
of instinct the motor activities are supposedly determined by 
racial hereditary influences^ but in the emotional form this 
determination is relatively more definite^ and often more 
elaborate^ as in fear; whereas^ in the other form it is little 
more than a disposition or tendency to certain kinds of re- 
action^ which are^ however, highly modifiable. 

While we possess, then, inherited tendencies to acts which 
seem to affect primarily either our own organism or the 
environment, as the case may be, it is the former of these 
tendencies rather than the latter which is ordinarily called 
out by obstacles to our progress. Whenever such obstructions 
(perceptual or ideational) are encountered, the motor dis- 
charge is thrown back upon the vital processes of the organism 
itself, and straightway we have an emotion. It now remains 
to discover, if possible, the meaning of this situation. 

Genesis of Emotion. — ^We described in Chapter XV. the 
general theory touching the origin of instincts, but we may 
profitably consider again, in connection with our analysis of 
emotion and its variable connection with instincts, the ques- 
tion of the genesis of emotional consciousness. 

Our study of the various cognitive processes, such as per- 
ception and memory, and our study of affective phenomena, 
has enabled us to ascribe in every case some specific function. 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 3^7 

or group of functions, \Yhich each process serves in the general 
economy of mental life. The essential problem now before 
us is to find the real function of emotion, and to account, if 
possible, for its specific forms. We have already noted its 
appearance under conditions of stress and tension requiring 
new conscious coordinations in order to permit progress, and 
we have connected this fact with the service of emotion as a 
general monitor reporting friction and the need of additional 
intelligent supervision. Can we, however, locate the source 
of this friction and give it its intelligible setting in the 
history of organic evolution? Can we, moreover, discover 
any reason for the differences in the qualities which the 
emotion of fear manifests when compared with grief? If 
the monitory character of emotion contained an adequate 
explanation of its function, it does not appear why these two 
emotions mentioned should display any such radical differ- 
ences. From this point of view all that is required is some 
index in consciousness which shall, with a maximum of 
certainty, attract attention to the difficulties to be overcome. 

The direction to which we may unquestionably look for 
assistance in answering these questions is that hinted at in 
the account of the evolution of instinct. The best exposition 
of this theory, and the one which we shall adopt in a general 
way, has been given by Dewey. His theory can hardly be 
called conclusively proven, but it is unquestionably the most 
plausible and luminous exposition of the Darwinian hypoth- 
esis, in connection with the Lange-James theory, which has 
been as yet attempted, and we shall certainly be wise in 
accepting it provisionally. 

Put briefiy, it is this: The peculiar feeling which marks 
each emotion off from other emotions is primarily due to the 
different reactions which various objects call forth. These 
reactions are in turn determined by circumstances, which may 
lie indefinitely far back in the early history of the race, but 
in each case they required for their effective manipulation 



328 PSYCHOLOGY 

special forms of coordination. The coordinations which 
served these ends were necessarily useful^ and so tended to 
become fixed as organic heritages. Every emotional reaction 
represents^ therefore^ the survival of acts originally useful^ 
either in the immediate physiological way or in the indirect 
biological and social way. Wundt and others also recognise 
forms of reaction which tend to copy already established 
responses to stimuli^ that arouse " analogous f eelings.^^ Thus 
we raise the nostrils in token of moral disgust^, just as we do 
at a nauseous odour. In the present-day individual these 
originally valuable reactions are not commonly executed as 
they once were^ for they are no longer unequivocally useful. 
But they appear now in the form of attitudes^ or tendencies 
to action^ which are^, however^ in part inhibited from expres- 
sion. This inhibition is due to the fact that^ owing to our 
personal experience and our present complex structure^, the 
emotional stimulus tends to produce two or more different 
motor reactions^ instead of producing simply the old^ in- 
stinctive^ hereditary one. The emotion itself is in essence 
our consciousness of the conflict between the several reactions 
which the stimulus tends to call forth. The conflict subsides 
only when the two or more groups of nascently aroused co- 
ordinations are in some way unified and brought into a larger 
and more inclusive coordination. Were there no such tenden- 
cies to specific forms of movement originally appropriate to 
special conditions^ undoubtedly emotions would be either all 
alike^ or else utterly irregular and disorderly. One or two 
illustrations may serve, in connection with our previous 
analysis, to make this general hypothesis clear. 

Illustration of the Principle. — Suppose that in walking 
across a meadow we are suddenly beset by an irate bull. 
So far as the bull is an interesting and unfamiliar object 
the visual impression which we get of him undoubtedly 
tends to bring about such movements as may permit us to 
examine him more closely. Such tendencies involve move- 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 3^9 

ments of approach. In so far^ on the other hand, as he is a 
roaring, devastating mass, indulging a high momentum in 
our direction, he equally stimulates motions of defence and 
retreat. ]^ow, however it may be with the first group, this 
second group of tendencies is very largely instinctive in origin, 
and involves movements which unquestionably were originally 
of practical utility, whatever their present worth, e, g,^ the 
breathing temporarily checked, as on all occasions immediately 
preparatory to severe effort; the increasing rapidity of heart- 
beat, with its consequent augmentation of the circulatory 
efficiency, etc.; all making for the maximum chance of suc- 
cessful escape from danger. If either of these groups of 
impulses were carried over into immediate action it seems 
improbable that the emotion of fear, as we know it, would 
appear at all. Certainly the expression of the motor tenden- 
cies indicative of curious interest would not produce fear, 
and if the impulses looking toward retreat were absolutely 
alone in the field, it is altogether likely that we should have 
conditions akin to those which characterise the free expression 
of the play impulses in children, i. e., heightened sense of 
vitality, but no such emotion as fear. Evidently these two 
groups of impulses called forth by the ominously interesting 
bull cannot both be expressed simultaneously, and in point of 
fact they tend to inhibit one another. It is the organic out- 
come of this conflict of impulses, of which we become so keenly 
conscious as the '^ emotion.^^ If the disposition usual in 
such cases finally conquers, we take to our heels, and at this 
point an instructive confirmation of our theory occasionally 
comes to light. 

If we succeed in really putting our luJiole minds into the 
running, the emotion of fear is practically at an end. We 
may still have exhilarating, and even exhausting, mental ex- 
citement, but terror has fied with our own whole-hearted flee- 
ing. In reality we often fail to throw ourselves thus com- 
pletely into the act of flight, and, instead of this, images of 



33<^ PSYCHOLOGY 

the pursuing fate keep rising in our minds. We hear the 
thunder of footsteps^ and the air is rent with savage bellow- 
ing. Each one of these sounds may stir in us a fresh emo- 
tional paroxysm^ and in just the same way as the original 
reaction was aroused. The impulse may be now strong to 
turn and see how near the brute has come^ and over against 
this tendency is the impulse to run still faster. In this man- 
ner recurrent waves of emotion may overwhelm us, until 
haply we reach the point where free and unimpeded coor- 
dinations may once more fare forth. This is most apt to 
occur on the other side of the bulFs fence. But in any case 
the emotion evaporates when the mutual antagonism and in- 
hibition of impulses cease, and not until then. 

A Difficulty. — It may occur to someone to inquire what 
becomes, on the basis of this theory, of the emotional outbursts 
of fear on the part of little children, too young to have Jcnowl- 
edge of the objects serving as stimuli, and, therefore, too 
young to have any of the acquired tendencies to reaction of 
which we have spoken, and to which we have assigned so im- 
portant a part. We have, for example, previously mentioned 
the fear which children sometimes manifest of fur. The reply 
to this query is that such seizures are not, properly speaking, 
emotional at all in the sense in which adult life experiences 
emotion. True emotion distinctly implicates an element of 
knowledge. We are afraid of this, that, or the other thing of 
which we know something which inspires our dread. Such 
reactions, therefore, on the part of children must be alto- 
gether on a par, as conscious processes, with the first con- 
sciousness of one^s organic sensations. They may be dis- 
agreeable, and probably are, but they no more deserve the 
name emotion, before there is a knowledge (however rudimen- 
tary) of the significance of the stimulus, than do the immedi- 
ate feelings of stomach-ache, of fatigue, or of general vitality. 

The Case of Satisfaction. — We may take, as an antithetical 
illustration to put alongside of our description of fear, the 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 331 

emotion of satisfaction, where it might seem that we have 
necessarily an essential absence of conflict and inhibition. 
But if we examine a specific instance of emotional elation, 
such as that which arises from victory in an athletic contest, 
we instantly meet evidence confirmatory of our view. Up to 
the moment of final success there has, we may suppose, been 
an oscillation between anxiety and exultation, as the tide of 
victory has ebbed and flowed. On the whole, however, if the 
contest has been close, anxiety and tension have probably 
dominated in consciousness. Now that the issue is closed, 
and the die is cast, a tide of riotous joy surges over us. 
We shout, laugh, and jump, wave hats, canes, umbrellas, 
whatever comes to hand; our next neighbour is the recipient 
of jovial thumps and punches, and our whole nature expands 
triumphantly in unconstrained complacency. 

All these performances we think of as expressions of the 
emotion, and the analysis of the previous chapter implied that 
our consciousness of these movements constitutes the essen- 
tial differentia of the emotional psychosis from other states 
of mind. The point we make here is that we should not be- 
come so vividly aware of the movements were there not a 
tendency to inhibit them, exercised by tendencies to make 
other movements. All consciousness, to be sure, seems to be 
toned more or less by the sensory reactions which arise from 
the constant overflow of neural excitement into the muscles, 
and in so far every psychosis has an element of emotion in it. 
But it is in connection with the conflicts sometimes encoun- 
tered in the expression of our racially hereditary impulses 
that we get the full, clear case, to which the term ^^ gross 
emotion ^^ is occasionally applied. In the instance of our 
illustration the inhibitive tendencies mentioned are primarily 
those expressive of our anxiety, and careful introspection will 
unquestionably show that the real feeling of joy and satisfac- 
tion is precisely contemporaneous with our mental portrayal 
of the strife and furor of the contest. When we cease to live 



33^ PSYCHOLOGY 

over again in memory the crucial moments of the game the 
emotion of joy has given way to some other more negative 
and quiescent state of bodily lassitude and content. It must, 
of course, be recognised that much which we commonly think 
of as mental satisfaction is really an altogether unemotional 
condition of placid vegetation. We stretch ourselves out after 
a good meal, and are at peace with the world. We are satis- 
fied. But this condition must not be confused with the thrill 
and tension of real emotion, however undiscriminating our 
descriptive language may be in calling both experiences states 
of satisfaction. 

The Case of Joyous Emotion. — A precisely similar situation 
will be found in every case of joyous emotion, whatever its 
cause. The lover who has at last carried lovers citadel; the 
business man who has cornered his market; the scientist who 
has proved his theory — one and all get the thrill and poignancy 
of joy from the stress and eagerness of conflicting impulses 
in which the whole nature is enlisted. On the one hand are 
tendencies expressive of doubt, hesitancy, conservative retreat ; 
on the other the expressions of forceful advance, of success 
and victory. The two sets of motor reactions are in unstable 
equilibrium, mutually inhibiting one another. The conscious- 
ness of our organic activities involved in this condition 
gives the mental background for our recognition of success, 
and the total psychical result is the emotion of joy. Once 
the victory is clearly recognised as won, and the game felt to 
be wholly over, our joy promptly begins to pale and fade. 
Moreover, let it not be supposed that intense joy is wholly 
unalloyed pleasure. Quite the contrary; such joy has its 
pain. 

" Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught." 

To be sure, the affective tone of joy is dominantly pleasur- 
able, and the reasons for this condition are not far to seek, 
as we shall presently see. But the emotion is a state of ten- 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 333 

sion, and this fact is all too likely to be submerged from 
notice in our disposition to emphasise the objective basis of 
our joy^ rather than the mental experience in which it is 
apprehended. 

Why should these special expressions^ however, characterise 
joy rather than others — say those which characterise grief? 
What utility have these reactions now^ or could they ever have 
possessed, by virtue of which they appear in us as hereditary 
attitudes? The typical expression of joy is laughter, but 
laughter, let it be remembered, is also expressive of many 
other things, e. g., surprise, derision, contempt, and even the 
more paroxysmal forms of grief — a circumstance which ap- 
pears anomalous in the light of any theory other than the 
one herewith set forth. In all these cases the laugh is the 
motor activity which inevitably accompanies the explosive re- 
lease from sustained tension, with its suspended breathing. 
In our account of the attentive processes in consciousness we 
remarked the holding of the breath as one among other 
adaptive motor arrangements, all of which involve muscular 
tension. In joy, in the appreciation of humour, in surprise 
after expectation, we meet precisely this suspension of breath- 
ing suddenly cut short. The innervation of the vocal, facial, 
and breathing muscles which this involves is the laugh. 
Stress has often been laid upon the rhythmic nature of 
laughter, and undoubtedly this is an essential feature of it. 
But this does not distinguish it from other effective coordi- 
nations which are always rhythmic, and of which we shall have 
more to say in another chapter. Joy is, then, an emotion 
which, taken in its entirety, involves a measure of antecedent 
tension, to which the motor reaction involved in laughter and 
its accompanying gestures constitutes a necessary relief. The 
stimulus to these tensions is suddenly transformed, we behold 
it in a new light ; the tension may, therefore, be released, and 
our consciousness of the process by which the release is 
progressively procured, as we apprehend the stimulus in a 



334 PSYCHOLOGY 

new way^ is the emotion. The utility of the attitude of joy 
should accordingly be sufficiently obvious. 

Utility of Emotional Attitudes. — If space permitted, and 
had we not already touched upon essentially the same matter 
in discussing instinct^ we might in a similar manner illustrate 
the original utilities of the attitudes peculiar to anger^ grief, 
and the other rudimentary emotions. Thus, Darwin has sug- 
gested that the rolling up of the upper lip in anger is a vestige 
of habits which belong to the days when men fought with 
their teeth. The clenching of the fists has an unmistakable 
implication. The sigh in grief and the sobbing which also 
belong to this emotion are explicable along lines resembling 
those we have described in connection with joy. It would 
undoubtedly be interesting to canvass the expressions of such 
familiar emotions as reverence^ hope^ remorse, gratitude,- 
shame, bashfulness, disgust, etc., but we must forego this. 
The reader must not forget, however, that the utility of these 
emotional attitudes is generally most evident in connection 
with their function in primitive conditions of life. This is 
certainly true of the reactions which have a definitely biologi- 
cal and social value in distinction from a merely physiological 
value. 

The various acts which we call expressions of emotion are 
simply acts which are, or once were, useful under the cir- 
cumstances calling forth the activity. It is, therefore, a 
genetic fallacy to speak as though the emotion first existed, 
and then sought an appropriate expression. The expressive- 
ness of such acts is primarily a thing which exists only for 
some observer. The acts are, or at all events originally were, 
means toward the realisation of some end which the individual 
has in view. The movements of my hand, as I write, are not 
to me expressions of my thought. They are simplj^- means to 
the end. No more are the emotional reactions primarily ex- 
pressive to the person making them. When for any of the 
various reasons we have remarked, and we have wholly over- 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 335 

looked many^ the tendencies toward these movements come 
into relations of conflict with other motor tendencies^ we have 
emotion. This conflict ultimately gives way to a coordination 
in which both tendencies are brought together, or one sup- 
presses the other, or both are displaced by a third. In any 
event, consciousness moves on, and that particular emotion 
with which we started out is at an end. 

Mood and Temperament. — While emotions are called forth 
by specific objects, we are all familiar with the fact that for 
considerable periods of time we often find ourselves especially 
susceptible to certain forms of emotion. After receiving a 
piece of good news we may find every event for hours after- 
ward tending to take on a bright and humorous colouring. 
On the other hand, it is an equally common experience to find 
that a fit of indigestion will cast a saffron hue over the most 
welcome fortune. This predisposition to special forms of 
emotion we call mood. It seems to rest upon definite organic 
conditions, which sometimes appear to be originated purely by 
intra-organic physiological disturbances, but which sometimes 
are evidently due to the residual effects of past emotions. In 
the latter case they are practically recurrent, or continuous, 
emotions. In either case they afford nothing essentially 
novel for our inspection. Under certain conditions of intense 
and relatively permanent emotion we speak of the condition 
as one of passion. Passion, however, is a term which is used 
very loosely in several other connections. 

When we compare individuals wdth one another, one of 
the striking differences which we observe concerns their in- 
herited susceptibilities and predispositions to certain forms 
of emotional response. This characteristic is one of the most 
important elements in the constitution of what we call tem- 
perament. Whereas mood indicates a relatively transitory 
disposition toward a certain emotional tone, temperament re- 
fers to a permanent tendency, contributing to the very waTp 
and woof of character. In the conception of temperament 



33^ PSYCHOLOGY 

intellectual and volitional attributes are also included, but the 
emotional factor is^ perhaps, the most significant. The 
classical division of temperaments into sanguine, choleric, 
melancholic, and phlegmatic may be recalled. 

Sentiment. — Emotions are not dependent upon bodily con- 
ditions alone for a soil favourable to their development. In- 
digestion may, indeed, render us prone to irrational irritation 
and depression, and blooming health may constitute an 
auspicious prologue to emotions of joy. But another circum- 
stance must be added, if we are to include all the conditioning 
factors. This additional consideration is found in the trains 
of ideas which possess our consciousness at any moment, and 
particularly in those general habits of thought and reflection 
which characterise our more distinctly intellectual life. If 
our customary habit of thought is of an altruistic and opti- 
mistic turn, there can be no question but that we shall more 
readily respond to emotional stimulations of the sympathetic 
type than if our minds are sicklied o^er with a paler and 
less human cast. These relatively permanent dispositions are 
what we designate our sentiments. Love, friendship, enmity, 
etc., are the names by which we know such characteristics. It 
will be obvious at once that the relation between sentiment and 
emotion is in a sense reciprocal. Our sentiments predispose 
us to certain kinds of emotion, — or put more truly, are the 
predispositions to such emotions, — ^whereas the cultivation of 
any emotion tends as a rule still further to fix the disposi- 
tion which it reflects. 

We observe that although emotions are conscious experi- 
ences which have their proximate causes in the immediately 
surrounding objects, they are profoundly modified by idea- 
tional processes and by antecedent organic conditions, certain 
of which may be due to temporary bodily derangements, cer- 
tain others of which may arise from our peculiar personal 
constitution, and all of which are ultimately derived from our 
racial heritage. 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 337 

Relation of Emotion to the Rest of Consciousness. — If we 

undertake to connect our analysis of emotion with the account 
we have already given of other mental processes^ it will at 
once be evident that we have been dealing with a very complex 
psychical condition. Clearly there must always be a cognitive 
element in emotion. We apprehend some object^ some cir- 
'cumstance^ which is what we call the cause of the emotion. 
This apprehension inevitably involves attention and the as- 
similative^ or associative^ activities which we remarked as 
invariably accompanying cognition. Furthermore^ we have 
repeatedly emphasised the strong affective tone which emo- 
tions display^ and many of the emotions to which we have 
referred had already been mentioned as ^^ feelings.^^ It seems 
desirable to dwell a moment upon the nature of this identifi- 
cation of certain emotions and feelings. It must be definitely 
understood at the outset that all emotions are feelings in the 
meaning assigned by us to the term feeling. The question we 
are now briefly to consider is simply that of the precise im- 
plication of certain of these emotions to which we had pre- 
viously accorded a clas^sification as feelings. 

Feeling and Emotion. — When we speak of sympathy we 
sometimes mean to indicate a definite feeling which has many 
of the characteristics of emotion^ and sometimes we refer sim- 
ply to a sentiment^ to a general attitude of mind. The same 
ambiguity attaches to our use of the opposite condition^ i. e,, 
antijDathy^ and to many other so-called feelings^ e. g.^ pride^ 
humility^ love^ and hate. The moral feeling of obligation, or 
the feeling of conscience, affords a further instance of an 
emotional psychosis. The feeling of dependence, which plays 
so essential a part in religious phenomena, the feelings of 
reverence and of faith, all have at times an emotional colour- 
ing which cannot be questioned. 

The aesthetic consciousness offers repeated instances of 
feelings which are tinged with emotion, although it must be 
frankly confessed that much which masquerades as j^sthetic 



338 PSYCHOLOGY 

appreciation is^ even when sincere^ far too cold-blooded, far 
too strictly intellectual, to lay any claim to an emotional char- 
acter. The orchestral rendition of a Mendelssohn symphony 
may fill ns with the most genuine and delightful emotion, it 
may interest ns merely as a superlative achievement of tech- 
nique, or it may, frankly, bore us. Evidently its claim to the 
production of a positive and unmistakable emotion will de- 
pend, in part at least, on such circumstances as our mood and 
our musical development. But it must not be supposed that 
intellectual activities are, as such, necessarily devoid of all 
emotional context. We already know that they may possess 
marked affective tone. The experience of wonder is often a 
genuinely emotional one, and it is distinctively an emotion 
belonging to cognitive processes. Belief, too, is often a dis- 
tinctly emotional experience. Yet belief is essentially a 
judging process with a complicated development and an 
intimate dependence upon volition. 

The fact of the matter is that such forms of mental life 
as these which we have just been mentioning are astoundingly 
elaborate products of our developing consciousness, and al- 
though we find evidences here and there in them of native 
emotional reactions, they are, in our adult life, anyhow, inex- 
tricably intertwined with the results of previous personal ex- 
perience. This makes it impossible to regard them merely as 
emotions of the purely hereditary type to which the earlier 
analysis in this chapter has been mainly devoted. But despite 
this qualification, we see at once whence it is that they get 
their astonishing impulsive power over us. However small 
the seed, there can be no doubt that each of these feelings, for 
which our language has so complex a system of titles, con- 
tains within itself the hereditary racial tendencies which con- 
stitute and explain the imperiousness of emotion. The truth 
of this assertion is confirmed by the essentially social char- 
acter of the most important of these feelings. The social 
nature of ethical feeling hangs together with the necessarily 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 339 

social character of righteousness. The religious feelings are 
not less social^ so far as they may be conveniently dis- 
tinguished from the moral feelings. But they find their 
application in a social order which transcends in part at least 
the imperfections of life as we know it here. The aesthetic 
feelings might appear to be purely personal. But a further 
study discloses the fact that the social element is funda- 
mental here^ too. This is^ of course^ exactly what we should 
expect of any conscious process which betrays an emotional 
cast^ for the emotions reflect racial habits^ and these must 
inevitably have a social basis. 



CHAPTEE XX 
ELEMENTAEY EEATUEES OP VOLITION" 

All of our study up to this point has been devoted to the 
several distinguishable features of consciousness by means of 
which mental operations are carried on. We have discussed 
the several phases of the cognitive activities^ such as memory^ 
imagination^ perception^ conception^ judgment^ and reason- 
ing. We have described the salient peculiarities of the af- 
fective processes. We have analysed the racial hereditary 
traces in consciousness as shown by emotion, and we have 
from time to time exhibited the different forms of motor co- 
ordinations with which the organism appears to be endowed^ 
and through which it executes its adjusting movements. It 
remains for us in the following chapters to bring these various 
descriptions and analyses into perspective with one another by 
examining in its entirety, and with much more of detail than 
was furnished in Chapter III.^ the development and char- 
acter of voluntary control. 

Method of Study. — Hitherto we have made it a general 
practice to begin our study of a given mental process by 
analysing its more conspicuous and characteristic features, 
and then, with this as a starting point, we have turned back 
to trace, whenever we could, the genesis and function of the 
process in the individual or the race. We have always laid 
great stress on this genetic side of the case, because it is 
evidently impossible to evaluate and interpret a biological 
phenomenon intelligently unless one knows its antecedents, 
and mental facts furnish no exception to this rule. But, on 

340 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 34^ 

the other hand, mental facts are so complex and elusive that 
an effort to trace the unfolding of consciousness can hardly 
be successful save when one has already some inkling of what 
to look for. In the investigation of volition we can proceed 
with a much larger measure of freedom than heretofore, be- 
cause we have already dealt with the more important elements 
concerned, e, g., attention, sensation, perception, ideas, and 
movements. We shall, therefore, after a brief analysis of 
these elements pass on to considerations of a primarily genetic 
kind. Subsequently we shall return to consider the more com- 
plex relations of voluntary acts. 

General Analysis of Volition. — When we direct our atten- 
tion to the immediately discernible features of voluntary acts 
in adult life, we note that such acts always involve foresight 
of some end, that this end is desired or at least consented to, 
and that certain muscular movements then occur which are 
meant to attain the end.* We observe, further, that on some 
occasions the mere presence of an idea carries with it in- 
stantly and without deliberation the execution of movement, 
whereas on other occasions arrival at the stage of mental 
consent requires long trains of reflective thought, and move- 
ments expressive of the decision may be postponed indefinitely. 
Sometimes the decision seems to be a relatively passive affair 
which makes itself on the basis of the facts considered. 
Sometimes, on the other hand, the whole self seems to be pro- 
jected into the choice, and the consciousness of this mandate 
of the will is designated by James and others as the " fiat.^^ 

* Inasmuch as certain decisions seem primarily to concern 
our trains of tliought rather than our muscular activities, as 
when we resolve to continue a course of reflection, our formula- 
tion may appear to emphasise unduly the motor features of voli- 
tion. But it must be remembered that voluntarily carrying on 
a process of thinking requires the securing of definite motor 
attitudes, and furthermore, that all such thinking has as. its 
purpose some future action, however long deferred we may 
expect this action to be. 



342 PSYCHOLOGY 

Moreover, we observe that ordinarily the attainment of a 
decision finds the muscles already capable of carrying out the 
necessary coordinations, but occasionally the will can com- 
mand no adequate motor agents. We may readily illustrate 
these cases. 

As I sit at my desk I feel a draft. Without a moment's 
hesitation I rise and close the window. Here is a perceptual 
process, followed immediately by an appropriate movement 
of voluntary muscles. Again as 1 write, a word comes into 
my mind the spelling of which is uncertain. Instantly I 
turn it up in the dictionary. Here is an idea followed 
promptly by a movement of the volitional kind. As I proceed 
with my writing I come to a point where I must decide 
whether or not to incorporate a certain subject in my text. 
The merits of the question require long and careful consider- 
ation. Finally I decide to drop the matter from my book, 
and forthwith my writing goes on upon another topic. In 
all the cases thus far cited I have been in command of the 
motor coordinations needed to realise my purposes. But if I 
suddenly desist from writing and decide to step to the piano 
in the next room and indulge in a sonata, my willing be- 
comes a mere burlesque, for I cannot play. We may safely 
start, then, from the assumption that every voluntary act 
involves the presence in the mind of ideas anticipatory 
of the act. v With this doctrine as a point of departure 
we must examine more precisely our volitional consciousness 
and its relation to our movements. So far as the '' fiat '^ 
represents in the author's opinion a genuine feature of voli- 
tional processes, it will be discussed in a later chapter in 
connection with the consciousness of effort. It will evidently 
be judicious to select for our present study acts which differ 
as widely as possible, both as regards the muscles employed 
in their accomplishment and in the character of the results 
achieved. Let us first, then, consider a series of voluntary 
acts in which different muscles are concerned. 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 343 

The Sensory and Ideational Elements of Control Over Vol- 
untary Acts. — When I wish to sing or whistle a melody, 1 
observe that the appropriate mnscnlar movements follow the 
presence in my consciousness of auditory and kinsesthetic 
images. I seem first to hear the melody mentally, and to 
feel the sensations which come from my throat and lips when 
I do actually sing or whistle. In writing, on the other hand, 
I observe, especially in the case of words which are difficult 
to spell, that my movements are more or less controlled by 
visual imagery. I get a glimpse at a visual image of the word 
to be used. In this case, however, I am also often aware of 
auditory images of the sounds of the sequent letters as they 
would be heard were the word being spelled aloud. There is, 
moreover, a rather constant escort of kinsesthetic images aris- 
ing from the former sensations of the hand movements em- 
ployed in writing the word. I may even use as cues for the 
ensuing movement the kinsesthetic sensations originating in 
the muscular contractions of the hand. In throwing at a 
mark my attention is almost wholly absorbed in looking at 
the spot for which I am aiming. The control of the throw- 
ing movement in this case is largely from visual sensory cur- 
rents, dimly reinforced, however, by kingesthetic impressions 
from various parts of the body. In jumping from a standing 
position there is first a visual perception of the distance or 
height to be cleared, followed almost instantly by a setting 
of the various muscles of the body involved in the act, with a 
consequent mass of kingesthetic sensory impressions aroused 
by these muscular contractions. When these sensations have 
reached what is Judged to be an adequate quality and in- 
tensity, the mind says " go,'^ and the jumping occurs. 

These illustrations suggest that sensational or ideational 
processes may be used indifferently as the immediate pre- 
cursors of coordinated movements, and they suggest, further- 
more, that any kind of sensory or ideational material mayi^e 
used in this way. Our cases have disclosed auditory, visual, 



344 PSYCHOLOGY 

and kingesthetic qualities^ but a further search would have 
revealed still other forms. 

If these cases seem too trivial to be fairly illustrative, we 
may turn to a case involving some serious practical conse- 
quences, e, g., the consideration of a large investment. It 
will, however, be seen at once that such a case promptly re- 
duces to the form of reasoning, and we may, therefore, with- 
out more ado refer back to the evidence which we presented 
in our discussion of that process, to show that imagery of one 
kind or another is a conspicuous and constant feature of it. 
We shall find ourselves on such occasions as that of our illus- 
tration passing in mental review ideas which represent the 
pros and cons of the proposed investment. Little by little 
one of these groups of ideas begins to displace the other, and 
to become more firmly organised in our consciousness, until 
at last the opposite group is altogether vanquished and devi- 
talised. The expression of our decision may take verbal 
form, or it may result in our writing a check, or making some 
other equally significant motor response. 

Types of Connection Between the Sensory-Ideational Ele- 
ments and Movements. — Now if we call to mind each of our 
illustrations we shall notice that in certain cases the idea 
which apparently controlled the voluntary act was an idea of 
the movement itself. This is partly true in the case of 
singing, more largely true in the case of jumping, where 
peripherally aroused impressions dominate over those cen- 
trally aroused. That is to say, in certain instances kinses- 
thetic sensations and images furnish us the material by means 
of which we practically anticipate, and so control, the move- 
ment we wish to make. In other instances, however, the sen- 
sations and images have to do primarily with the results of the 
movements, or with something connected with these results 
in a secondary fashion. The auditory images used in the 
control of singing, whistling, and sometimes writing are cases 
in point. In controlling vocal movements in this v/ay we are 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 345 

employing images which are copies^ in a measure^ of sensory 
impressions made upon the ear by the vocalisations. But 
when the hand movements of writing are thus controlled, we 
clearly have a roundabout connection between vocal spelling 
movements, with their auditory consequences, and hand spell- 
ing motions. In the case of our investment decision the ideas 
may have had to do entirely with the conditions of the mar- 
kets, the vitality of our own bank account, etc., and the act 
which expressed the decision, e. g., signing our name to a 
cheek, may never once have come to mind until the deed was 
about to be executed. We must recognise from these observa- 
tions that the ideas and sensations by means of which we 
supervise our movements may be of the most various char- 
acter, and their relations to the movements may be either very 
close, as in the case where they are kingesthetic, or indefinitely 
remote. James employs a useful pair of terms in calling 
those ideas of movement which originate in the part of the 
body moved, ^^ resident,^^ designating all other ideas which 
arise from the consequences of the movement, ^^ remote.'^ It 
must be added, however, that in practice the severance of the 
two from one another is in most persons by no means so com- 
plete as his description implies. After we have commented 
upon another important characteristic of these volitional 
acts we must attempt to discover just how it comes about that 
the various forms of sensation and imagery which we have 
noted attain their connection with the relevant movements. 

Attention and Volition. — More fundamental, perhaps, in 
volitional processes than the controlling imagery is the fact 
of attention. 'No idea can dominate our movements which 
does not catch and hold our attention. Indeed,^volition as a 
strictly mental affair is neither more nor less than a matter 
of attention.^ When we can keep our attention firmly fixed 
upon a line of conduct, to the exclusion of all competitors, 
our decision is already made. In all difiicult decisions the 
stress of the situation exists primarily in the tension between 



346 PSYCHOLOGY 

the ideas representing the alternatives. First one and then 
another of the possibilities forces itself upon us, and our at- 
tention will not rest for more than a moment or two upon any- 
single one. The chapter upon attention brought to our 
notice a number of reasons for believing this process to be a 
universal feature of consciousness, and we can feel no sur- 
prise, therefore, to find it playing a dominant role in volition 
where consciousness displays its most significant character- . 
istics. (it is by means of our ideas that we anticipate the fu- 
ture and project for ourselves the lines of our conduct, but it 
is by means of attention that we actually succeed in making 
some one of these anticipatory ideas real in the form of action.^ 
Attention must have something to work upon, and this some- 
thing is supplied in the form of sensational and ideational 
presentations. Attention is the function by means of which 
mental possibility becomes motor actuality. ^'With this fact 
in mind our next business must be the tracing of the develop- 
ment by means of which the various kinds of ideas which 
we find ourselves using to control our movements come to 
have this peculiar power. This undertaking involves our 
turning back to the conditions in infancy and early childhood, 
during which most of our important coordinations are 
established. 

Primitive Motor Consciousness.-— The primitive conscious- 
ness of the new-born child is confronted not only by the ob- 
jects of the external world outside the organism, it is also in 
frequent receipt of impressions from those muscular move- 
ments of the organism itself to which we have so often re- 
ferred. The vague precursors in the child^s mind of his 
subsequent clearly recognised perceptions and ideas of move- 
ment are thus primordial. In any event, consciousness with 
the germ of attention in it is present from the beginning, and 
the stimulations of which it must immediately become aware, 
in however vague and inarticulate a manner, are in part, 
from the very outset, sensory stimulations aroused by mus- 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 347 

cular movements. So far as consciousness is concerned^ then^ 
sensation and movement come into existence together; for 
consciousness they are really one. 

Transition From Random to Controlled Movements. — ^We 
have already had occasion in earlier chapters to inventory the 
capital of motor coordinations with which the new-born babe 
is endowed^ and we have fonnd it confined to a few simple 
reflex movements, for the most part poorly executed, to a few 
possibly " spontaneous movements/^ and to a store of auto- 
matic activities concerned with respiration, circulation, and 
nutrition. Voluntary action in any proper sense is wholly 
wanting, and this finds its immediate explanation in two con- 
siderations: (1) the psychological fact that voluntary action 
implies action toward some recognised end which the absence 
of experience necessarily precludes; and (2) the physiological 
fact that the cortical centres are still too imperfectly devel- 
oped to afford interconnections between the sense organs and 
the voluntary muscles. The latter consideration is, of course, 
fatal to any immediate development of voluntary control, but 
even were the nervous system functionally mature at birth, the 
first difficulty would prevent the rapid establishing of such 
control. In our description of impulsive activities in Chapter 
III. we noticed that little by little the merely random move- 
ments of infancy become coordinated with reference to cer- 
tain sorts of stimuli, until by the end of the third or fourth 
week, with most children, the eye movements can be con- 
trolled, and by the end of the twenty-fourth month all the 
more important rudimentary muscular movements can be 
executed. Now, what are the intermediate steps between this 
period of merely reflex, or random, impulsive activity with 
which the child begins life and the period of voluntary motor 
control ? 

Elementary Principles of Transition. — We may lay down 
two general propositions to start with, which must be continu- 
ally borne in mind in order to avoid misapprehension. These 



34^ PSYCHOLOGY 

principles^ which are sustained by all observation^ are: (1) 
that all voluntary control is built upon a foundation of move- 
ments which are already going on in an impulsive way; and 
(2) that the development of control^ although from the be- 
ginning it extends in a measure^ perhaps, to all the voluntary 
muscles, proceeds more rapidly, now in one group and now 
in another. Broadly speaking, the larger muscles are first 
brought under accurate control, while later on the more deli- 
cate movements of the small muscles are acquired; a fact 
which should be taken into account in the early occupations 
of children. This law of periodic or rhythmic growth char- 
acterises all mental and bodily development. A child may 
have fairly good control of its eye movements, while the arm 
movements are still vague and inaccurate; and it may have 
acquired considerable dexterity with its hands, while still 
unable to command its feet with much success. Volition 
must not, then, be thought of as a process in which conscious- 
ness somehow brings into life movements which previously 
did not exist. The problem of the evolution of control is the 
problem connected with the coordinating, in reference to 
certain ends, of movements already occurring in an unco- 
ordinated way. We are under no obligation to explain the 
existence of the movements. They are already in evidence. 
Our problem is simply concerned with the method of their 
systematisation, and their organisation, in connection with 
consciousness. 

Law of Excess Discharge. — We may profitably select for 
examination a case illustrative of one typical form in which 
control over these unordered movements is secured. Let us 
suppose that a bright and noisy rattle is presented to the 
notice of a child who has learned to focus his eyes, but who 
is as yet unable to reach intelligently for objects. How does 
the child learn to grasp such an object, which he sees and 
hears ? The rattle stimulates at once both eye and ear. The 
child^s first reaction is, perhaps, one of astonished inspection, 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 349 

as he gazes at this unfamiliar thing. The noise continues 
and the bright colour catches the attention. The sensory cur- 
rents from the two sense organs find no adequate drainage 
channels in the motor attitude involved in watching, conse- 
quently they begin to overflow into other channels. Now 
there are already established^, as we have remarked a number 
of times^ pervious pathways leading centrifugally awa}^ from 
the motor regions of the central system. These are the path- 
ways employed in the impulsive^ instinctive movements^ etc. 
The overflow from our sensory disturbances naturally tends^ 
therefore^ to pass off in these directions^ and presently we see 
that the child is moving his hands and arms and head more 
or less violently^ and often the muscles of the trunk and legs 
are also much affected. 

First Accidental Success. — At first these movements are 
inevitably spasmodic^ vague, and uncoordinated. They sim- 
ply suggest, as we observe them, some sort of explosion in the 
motor centres. We say that the child is interested by the 
rattle, that he wants to get it, and no doubt his consciousness 
is much agitated by the experience. But we must guard 
against the fallacious supposition that he wants the rattle in 
any such conscious intelligent manner as an adult might 
desire an object. The child may be acting as he does simply 
because his nerves make him do so, just as one sneezes when 
sufficient pepper is introduced into the nostrils, not because 
one necessarily wants to sneeze^ but because it is impossible to 
help it. Whatever may be the outcome of the first exposure to 
such a stimulus as this, the continued presence of the rattle 
for a few moments is very likely to result in some movement 
of the arms adequate for grasping it. It will be remembered 
that the grasping instinct is among the most primitive of all. 
This successful grasping may not occur until the rattle has 
been held out in this way a number of times. But the activi- 
ties which we have described are those which commonly- pre- 
cede such success, whether it be attained quickly or slowly. 



350 PSYCHOLOGY 

Pleasurable Tone of Accidental Success.— The first step, 
therefore^ in securing voluntary control of the hand and arm 
under such circumstances is based upon the tendency of the 
sensory stimulations to produce diffused motor discharges 
throughout many muscles of the body. Certain of these 
motor activities result in changing the stimulus in some way. 
The next problem is^ therefore^ concerned with the conse- 
quences of this fact^ which in the case of our illustration 
consists in the successful grasping of the rattle. Such an 
act affords a new and generally delightful surprise^ and in this 
fact is found the reason for its importance in furthering the 
volitional control. 

According to the general law of habit which we have so 
often invoked^ the persistent drainage of the sensory im- 
pulses set up by the rattle^ out through the miscellaneous 
motor channels of the nervous system^ would establish a cer- 
tain predisposition in these impulses to pour out through 
these same channels whenever the rattle was observed. This 
seems^ indeed^ to be the fact. But when the rattle is actually 
grasped we have a new stimulus immediately introduced. In 
place of the rattle seen-and-heard^ we have now the rattle 
felt-and-heard-and-seen-moving-with-the-hand. These dis- 
tinctions^ of course^ cannot exist for the baby with any such 
definiteness as they do for us who are looking on. But they 
exist as differences actually felt, however inadequately they 
might be described^ supposing the child were able to express 
himself. The mere change of the stimulus visually attended 
to must, then, under the supposed conditions, serve momentar- 
ily at least to intensify the child's attention to the total situa- 
tion. Furthermore, the grasping of the object, involving as it 
does a definite motor coordination of an efficient kind, is per 
se agreeable, i. e., it is a normal activity of functions (in this 
instance instinctive) adequate to the demands laid upon them. 
The result of success in the reaching and grasping, with its 
heightened conscious tone, will accordingly accentuate the 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 351 

disposition to fix in the form of habit the total series of re- 
actions which have led np to this outcome. It now remains 
to observe how the child avails himself of the progress thus 
far attained to master completely the movements concerned. 

Progress After First Success. — In the first place^ observa- 
tion will at once disclose the fact that from this point on 
progress is generally slow and tentative^ differing markedly 
in this respect from certain features of the process by which 
adults learn new coordinations. A considerable number of 
attempts may be necessary before the baby can repeat 
promptly his first successful movement. When the coordi- 
nation is actually well matured^ two striking characteristics 
distinguish it from the predecessors out of which it has 
grown. It is accurate^ not hesitant nor vague^ and it in- 
volves only the muscles actually necessary for its perform- 
ance^ instead of many others in various parts of the body. 
How have these useless movements been eliminated? We 
cannot reply to this question with as much definiteness and 
detail as is desirable^ but the general nature of the process 
seems to be somewhat as follows. 

Elimination of Useless Movements. — The baby^s conscious- 
ness is all the time vividlv enlisted in the movements which 
he is making, but the rattle furnishes the constant focus for 
these, and for the baby^s attention. Of all the movements 
which are made, those are most likely to get notice which are 
most intimately connected with the immediate field of atten- 
tion. Needless to say, these are the movements of the child^s 
own hands and arms, which he must see whenever thev chance 
to approach the rattle, and which he must vaguely feel as often 
as they move. So far, then, as the rattle is the centre of the 
baby^s attention, those sensations will receive most emphasis 
in consciousness which are most immediately connected with 
it, which coalesce most readily with it into a single experience, 
changing when it changes, remaining unchanged w^hen tt is 
unchanged. 



352 PSYCHOLOGY 

Once again^ let it not be supposed that we are for a moment 
oflfering such an analysis as the above as an account of any- 
thing present reflectively to the child. His naivete may be 
as great as possible. We are simply describing the kinds of 
sensations which must apparently get most conspicuous repre- 
sentation in his consciousness. It would seem^ then^ that the 
movements of the hand and arm would get most vivid atten- 
tion among the various random movements of the body^ and 
that of the several movements which the hand and arms 
might accidentally execute^ those again would receive most 
emphasis which actually resulted in grasping the object. The 
situation seems to hinge for the explanation of its develop- 
ment into controlled movement^ with lapse of useless move- 
ments^ upon the pleasurable fixation of attention on the rattle 
and the consequent emphasis of all sensations caused by 
movements affecting this centre of attention. Such move- 
ments as regularly affect the rattle are thereby necessarily 
emphasised^ so long as the rattle is the object of attention^ 
and the predisposition for the sensory impulses to drain out 
through them is heightened. The others fall away largely 
because the neural energy is adequately provided for in these 
new-formed pathways. But they do not fall away at once^ 
and the effective coordination is not set up at once. The 
process is sloW;, and gives every indication of being a real 
growth. 

The Case of Ideational Control. — If this account be ac- 
cepted^ it suggests an explanation of how it might come about 
that when an interesting object was placed before a child he 
might be able to reach it. Our explanation thus far has been 
cast in terms of the law of habit, operating under the intensi- 
fying effects of agreeable attention upon motor discharges of 
an impulsive and excess-discharge type. But what explana- 
tion does it afford of the ability voluntarily to control the 
hand and arm movements of this kind when a stimulating 
object is wanting? How does it account for the origin of 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 353 

such ideational control as was evidenced in our analysis of 
adult volition at the beginning of the. chapter? 

If we have been correct thus far in onr account of the 
manner in which movements of the voluntary muscles become 
coordinated in response to certain sensory stimulations^ it 
ought not to be difficult to get at the manner in which idea- 
tional processes secure the same result. The facts upon 
which the correct explanation rests were discussed in the 
•chapters beginning with perception^ memory^ and imagin- 
ation. All centrally initiated imagery is ultimately derived 
from antecedent sensory sources^ and like its sensory pre- 
cursors it all tends to be converted sooner or later into motor 
ax^tivity. In asking how ideas come to set up movements^ 
therefore^ our only problem is how particular ideas come to 
be followed by particular appropriate movements. The 
tendency to produce motor changes of some kind is an innate 
characteristic of all imagery processes. In this sense all our 
ideas are motor. Or^ as certain psychologists would put it. 
all consciousness is conative. The real question is^ why an 
idea should ever fail to produce a movement^ and we antici- 
pate our discussion so far as to say forthwith that such failure 
is due simply and solely to the inhibiting effect of some 
other ideational process, which is also struggling for motor 
expression. 

In connection with our first illustration of the attainment 
of control over an eye-hand coordination, we have traced the 
process by which needless movements are eliminated and 
accurate efficient ones become fixed. So far as memory im- 
ages of these movements have been forming and gaining dura- 
bility in the course of the development, those images have 
evidently had most opportunity for emphasis which have been 
constantly connected with the successful coordinations. They 
are, therefore, most likely to persist in consciousness. 

Neural Habit and Ideational Control. — The explanation of 
the fact that such ideas are able to call forth the movements 



354 PSYCHOLOGY 

desired seems to rest wholly upon the principle of neural 
habit. The appearance in consciousness of the idea of the 
movement means in the first instance a re-excitation neurally 
of a certain central portion of a sensory-motor arc. Granted 
that such an excitation takes place^ whatever its neural 
antecedents^ we can feel sure^ from the polar nature of ner- 
vous currents^ that it will issue in a motor discharge. The 
ideational process simply reinstates^ as we have so often noted 
heretofore^ the latter portion of a previous sensory-motor 
process. This relation is exhibited graphically^ although 
with extreme simplification of the actual f acts^ in the accom- 
panying diagram (figure 60), in which 88SM represents 




S 




Fig. 60. The pathway from ^ to M represents the course of a 
sensory stimulus passing from a sense organ to a muscle 
through cortical centres. The pathway / to M represents 
the course of an ideationally, or centrally, aroused neural ac- 
tivity traversing in part the same pathway as the previous 
sensory stimulus, and issuing in the same muscle. 

the course of a sensory impulse forward into a coordinated 
reaction; and IIIM represents the same reaction, but in 
this case with its initiation in an image or idea. If it be ad- 
mitted, then, that we have already discovered the essential 
steps in the process by which movements become coordinated 
in reference to certain sensory stimuli, it follows inevitably 
from the considerations which we have brought forward in 
earlier chapters that a re-excitement of the central regions 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 355 

connected with these sensory-motor coordinations will^ unless 
inhibited in some definite manner^ reproduce the same motor 
reactions. Imagery is the conscious factor in such central 
excitations. The idea of a movement is^ neurally considered, 
the beginning of that movement. 

The Learning of New Coordinations by Adults. — Having 
now analysed the primitive establishment of sensory and 
ideational motor control, it will be profitable to pause a 
moment and examine certain peculiarities of adult processes. 
It has sometimes been maintained that adults in learning any 
new coordination avail themselves, first, of the " resident ^^ 
imagery, t. e., that which represents the kinaesthetic sensation 
of the moving part ; and that after the coordination has been 
established they resort to " remote ^^ imagery, i. e., that which 
represents the sensory effect of the movement upon sense 
organs other than those in the part of the body moved. There 
is undoubtedly a measure of truth in this formulation, but it 
requires some modification before we can accept it. So far 
as concerns the development of coordinations in babies, it is 
evidently very difficult, if not impossible, to determine what 
kinds of imagery are employed; and, anyhow, (as we have 
seen) the important primary steps in the process are probably 
based upon the use of sensations, and not images at all. When 
we turn to adults and examine the facts in the case of acquir- 
ing a new series of coordinations, such, for example, as playing 
the piano, we find very great individual variation, but in 
general the process is of the following character: 

We first employ the visual impression to guide us as to 
the proper position for our hands. We then attempt to secure 
a distinct tactual-kinsesthetic impression of the feeling of the 
hand and fingers when their position is correct for securing 
certain results, e, g.^ playing the scale. For a long time the 
proper playing of the scale requires the control of both the 
visual and the tactual-kingesthetic processes, one of which is 
resident and one remote. Moreover, it is visual and kinges- 



356 PSYCHOLOGY 

thetic sensory elements^ rather than images or ideas^, which 
are employed at the outset. After the coordination is fairly 
well established, the sensory control may be disregarded and 
either kind of imagery may then be employed to discharge 
the movement. As a matter of fact, when this stage is 
reached another and more remote form of imagery generally 
steps in and takes command. Playing commonly is done 
from a printed score, and always, save upon a few humanely 
constructed instruments, produces sound. When the control 
of the finger movements is highly developed, the sight of the 
score, the visual image of it, or the auditory image of the 
sound of the composition, may serve entirely well to bring 
about the movements, which seem to ^^take care of them- 
selves,^^ as we say. 

It appears, therefore, that the change in the form of 
imagery which we employ in the control of our movements is 
not to be described merely in terms of a transfer from resident 
to remote. The sequence of events in the most highly devel- 
oped cases seems to be of this character, i, e., resident-and- 
remote-sensations immediately connected with the movements, 
resident-and-remote-images immediately connected with the 
movement, remote-sensations-and-images mediately connected 
with the movement. The clue to the several steps in the 
onward progress will generally be found in inquiring where 
one^s interest is located at the moment. So long as this 
is necessarily in the movement itself v/hose control we de- 
sire^ the psychological elements will all be found gathered 
about this. Some of them will be resident, some remote. 
The moment the movement is mastered, however, interest 
generally moves forward to the application of the miovement 
in some larger undertaking, and at this stage the mental ele- 
ments which refer to the movement and bring it into opera- 
tion may be only remotely connected with it. But the 
connection is, nevertheless, real, however seemingly remote, 
and the appropriate muscular activity never follows an idea^ 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 357 

unless one's previous experience has in some fashion or other 
established a nexus of the habit type. The functional or- 
ganic connection between such ideas and their motor expres- 
sions is just as genuine as that displayed by any other kind of 
ideo-motor fusion. It is only from the standpoint of the 
outside observer, who either does not know or else neglects 
the antecedent development, that the two things appear re- 
mote and disconnected from one another. 

The Disappearance of Consciousness From Controlled Co- 
ordinations. — It remains to emphasise once again one of the 
rudimentary facts about the establishment of motor control 
before passing on (in the next chapter) to certain of the more 
complex features of the process. We have repeatedly had 
occasion to remark that consciousness tends to disappear the 
moment that physiological conditions are established adequate 
to the supervision of the various motor adjustments necessary 
to the organism. The case of volition affords the conspicuous 
and typical instance of this disposition. When a special form 
of motor activity is needed, attention steps in and the psycho- 
physical processes which we have just described cooperate to 
effect a satisfactory coordination. This coordination is then 
deposited, so to speak, in the nervous system in the form of a 
habit. When further organic demands arise, this habit is 
ready at hand and capable of being employed with a minimum 
of conscious control. In this way consciousness is ever press- 
ing onward, supported by the reserve forces of habitual co- 
ordinations, which can at any moment be summoned in the 
conquest of new realms. Volition has thus no sooner estab- 
lished a habit than it turns about and employs the habit as a 
tool in the construction of larger, more extensive habits. 

In adult life almost all of one's important decisions are 
carried out in a practically automatic manner by established 
coordinations of the habit type. Writing, reading, walking, 
talking — what is there that one does which does not in1;he 
last analysis reduce to the use of acquired habits? The 



35^ PSYCHOLOGY 

ethical and pedagogical importance of this absolutely funda- 
mental nature of habit^ upon which we enlarged in Chapter 
III.;, must be obvious. When viewed in this way one sees^, too^ 
why volitional processes seem at first sight to have so much of 
the miraculous in them. Why and how should the mere 
flitting of an idea through my mind lead to such remarkably 
complex and well-adapted acts as the playing of an aria^ the 
paying of a bill^ etc. ? The answer is literally impossible^ un- 
less we turn back and trace the progress step by step through 
which the coordinations have become established and come 
into functional connection with particular ideas. When we 
have made such an approach to the problem as this^ the solu- 
tion is seen to involve definite and intelligible laws operating 
in a fixed and definite way. 

Conscious Imitation as a Basal Type of Volition. — It will 
be recalled that we classified one form of imitation among the 
impulsive types of reaction. Psychologists are at variance 
with one another as to its instinctive nature. It will appear 
when we take up the discussion at this pointy as it did in the 
chapter on instinct, that certain varieties of imitation are 
undoubtedly not instinctive in any demonstrable manner, 
whereas certain other varieties of it strongly suggest this 
origin. Moreover, certain forms of reaction which have been 
called imitative are characterised by the mere repetition of a 
movement- regardless of its immediate provocative. Imitation 
in the more customary and limited sense applies properly to 
cases in which the action of some second person is intention- 
ally copied — in purpose, if not in fact. It must also be 
added that whereas imitation in the common implication of 
the term applies to acts done consciously and with definite 
intent, certain imitative reactions are apparently executed 
without any explicit purpose and with a minimum of con- 
scious supervision. These complexities in the modern mean- 
ing ascribed to the term " imitation ^^ need to be borne in 
mind if one is to avoid confusion. This is especially true 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 359 

when one is referring to snch acts for light upon the mode 
in which voluntary control is attained. 

Primary Imitation. — The repetition of monosyllables^ such 
as da-da, which many babies indulge in long before they begin 
to use vocal sounds intelligently, may serve to illustrate the 
first type of imitative acts. Sometimes these sounds are 
closely similar to certain words which the child may have 
heard. But it seems questionable how far the term imitation 
can fairly be applied to acts of this character. In any case 
they belong to the form of activity which Mr. Baldwin has 
dubbed '' circular reactions.^^ The articulatory movements, 
once they are made, produce auditory and kinsesthetic sensa- 
tions. These sensory stimulations drain out again through 
the already pervious pathways leading to the same muscles, 
and so the process goes on more or less indefinitely. Such 
employment of the muscles is, within the limits of fatigue, 
per se agreeable, and we must suppose that even though the 
function of consciousness under these circumstances is largely 
reduced to that of a spectator, it nevertheless, as spectator, 
indorses the on-going activity and serves thus in some measure 
to fix in the habit form the neural-motor groupings which are 
concerned. Certainly, when one can get the child's attention 
the movements are commonly checked for the time being, 
thus suggesting that in some way they are after all in a 
measure dependent upon the conscious processes. 

Characteristics of Conscious Imitation. — Conscious imita- 
tion of copies set by other persons and felt by the child to be 
models, which he strives to duplicate, constitute a later, more 
complex, and possibly more important form of action. In- 
deed, Mr. Baldwin will have it that in this condition we meet 
the real beginning of volition, and to it he assigns the con- 
venient designation " persistent imitation.^' The term 
" persistent '" emphasises the fact that such imitative move- 
ments are made again and again in the face of partial failure, 
until success is finally achieved. 



360 PSYCHOLOGY 

It must be remembered;, however^ that many consciously 
imitative acts are not repeated^ or at all events are repeated 
after long intervals and without any reference to their previous 
performance. Thus, a child may make a definite effort to 
repeat a new word that he hears his parents use. His failure 
may be ludicrous and it may be weeks before another effort is 
made. In the case of older children and adults persistent 
imitation is an omnipresent phenomenon. If one boy in a 
group jumps over a fence, every other boy feels himself under 
obligation to go and do likewise; and those whose efforts are 
below the accepted standard of excellence promptly devote 
themselves to correcting the defect, adopting for their pattern, 
so far as possible, the achievement of the leader of the group. 
In social life one large mass of people is always engaged in at- 
tempting to follow the pace of the leaders. Each smaller 
group has its own chief, who again sets the pattern for that 
group, and in no realm of life, whether aesthetic or religious, 
practical or theoretical, are we ever wholly free of the dis- 
position to imitate. What is the actual process involved in 
the more rudimentary expressions of this deep-seated human 
tendency ? 

The process may take place under either of two forms, seem- 
ingly distinct, but fundamentally alike. The imitation may 
be directed to repeating certain, movements, e. g., the gestures, 
intonation, or facial expression of some other person, or it may 
be concerned with the production of a result similar to some 
standard object set up as a model, e. g., a letter, or a figure, in 
which case the actual movements employed may vary consid- 
erably from time to time without seriously impairing the 
integrity of the copy. Although this instance of reproducing 
some visible outline is more highly evolved than certain of the 
earlier forms of conscious imitation, it will serve satisfactorilv 
to exemplify the basal facts about such activities and their 
relation to developing volition. It will be seen, moreover, 
that they are distinguished in one respect only from the type 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 3^1 

of developing coordination which we first described, i. e.^ in 
the presence of an external standard with which their results 
are compared. 

A young child learning to write is commonly given a copy, 
and then the teacher takes a pen and demonstrates how it 
should be held, and how the writing movement should be 
made. -When the child essays his imitation the usual 
result is something of this kind: The pen is grasped with 
needless severity, the brows are wrinkled, the muscles of the 
body are tense, the breathing is spasmodic, and often the mouth 
is open, and the tongue discovered to be making futile move- 
ments in secondary imitation of the hand-tracing. Evidently 
the stimulus has resulted, as in other cases which we have 
examined, in an overflow of nervous energy into muscles 
which are largely irrelevant to the success of the immediate 
enterprise in hand. The product of this effort is compared 
with the copy, its failure to comply with the original is noted, 
and another effort is made. Or the repetition may be forth- 
coming simply because the act itself is agreeable, and with a 
splendid disregard of any disparity between copy and original. 
In other cases, candour compels one to admit, the next attempt 
is made under the influence of some one of the various forms 
of suasion of which the teacher mav be master. When the 
activity goes forward of the child^s own initiative, however, 
and when he is left more or less to himself, he slowly manages 
to improve his work both as regards faithfulness of portrayal 
and as regards the elimination of useless movements. Now 
this result is achieved in much the same manner as already 
described in connection with our illustrative baby and rattle, 
so that however fundamental these conscious imitative proc- 
esses may be, in putting the child in touch with his social 
surroundings the method of procedure adds nothing essential 
to the forms we have already studied. 



CHAPTEE XXI 

EELATION OF VOLITIOjST TO INTEEEST, EPPOET, 

AND DESIEE 

The foregoing chapter has brought to our notice certain of 
the rudimentary features of voluntary action. We have traced 
the general development by means of which impulsive and 
other primary forms of movement set up sensory excitation^ 
which is then appropriated by attention and converted either 
directly or indirectly as imagery into a mechanism of control 
over the movements. We have also remarked the tendency of 
attention in volition to produce the semi-conscious^ or non- 
conscious^ quasi-automatic acts which we call habits^ and its 
further tendency to pass on, as soon as such habitual coordin- 
ations are established^ to the formation of yet other habits. 
In the present chapter we must examine certain of the wider 
and more general characteristics of volition^ and especially its 
relations to effort^ interest^ and desire. 

Theory of Selective Attention in Volition.— When we de- 
scribed in the last chapter the manner in which choice is ac- 
complished by means of the selective activity of attention^ 
which rejects certain ideas and clings to others^ we made no 
special attempt to explain why attention displays these prefer- 
ences. Indeed^ no ultimate explanation can be given for 
these decisions^ any more than an ultimate explanation can be 
given for the constitution of the sun. But in a proximate way 
we can get at the reason^ and we find it is connected very 
closely with our whole view of the nature of organic life and 
the significance of mind for living creatures. 

362 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 3^3 

Spontaneous Attention. — In our account of attention^ early 
in the book^ we emphasised the basal nature of what we called 
spontaneous or non-voluntary attention^ i, e., attention directed 
freely and without compulsion in a manner expressive of the 
mind's inner interests. We have recently been discussing a 
parallel fact in the motor region under the name of impulse. 
When we put these two groups of considerations together^ we 
find that the psychophysical organism manifests^ both on the 
psychical and the physiological sides^, definite projective tend- 
encies. Certain kinds of movement, certain kinds of objects^, 
appeal to us at once natively and without reflection. We 
come into the world, so to speak, with a bias already favour- 
ing certain experiences at the cost of other possible ones. 
Moreover, we vary from one another very markedly as regards 
the special directions of this bias. So far, then, as choice 
comes down to a question of attention to ideas, we may be 
sure that by virtue of this spontaneous characteristic of atten- 
tion certain ideas will from the first be given preference over 
others. 

If we take the situation on the level of our own adult con- 
sciousness, we find that we are naturally disposed to attend to 
those ideas which immediately interest us, rather than to those 
which do not. But when we ask the further question, why 
they interest us, we can only point again to the spontaneous 
and impulsive nature of attention. We get back here finally 
to the admission that both the hereditary and the personal 
history of each of us has produced differences in our impulsive 
and spontaneous modes of acting which we all recognise in 
one another, and for which we can offer no detailed explan- 
ation. Fortunately, however, we can point out somewhat 
more intimately certain of the fundamental features of in- 
terest as a mode of consciousness, and this we may briefly 
undertake. 

Interest. — Interest has sometimes been treated by psycholo- 
gists as one of the intellectual feelings. In the case of mere 



364 PSYCHOLOGY 

curiosity the reason for this is fairly obvious. Indeed^ we 
mentioned curiosity as one of these feelings, when we were 
analysing affective consciousness. But if we consider the type 
of interest which we feel in an absorbing pursuit^, a game, an 
experiment, or a business venture, then we recognise that 
such interest, however truly it may display affective charac- 
teristics, is a phenomenon which belongs conspicuously 
among the conative processes of mental life. To bring out 
the point it is sometimes said that '' we may give attention, 
but we always fe^e interest.^' This statement discloses the 
positively active, self-expressive, self-assertive nature of in- 
terest. We have observed that attention is always in point 
of fact an expression of organic activity, but the subjective 
difference between listless attention to a tedious subject and 
the kind of attention we give to things which interest us is 
unmistakable. 

Stimulus to Interest. — Like other psychical experiences, 
interest always has some stimulus. HoweveT completely 
absorbed we may conceivably become in our own merely sub- 
jective feelings, interest always has some object to which it 
refers, and the object is definitely recognised. This gives us 
at once a point of identity and a point of difference between 
pure impulse and interest. Both are internally projective, 
internally expressive, but one has a recognised object tov/ard 
which it is directed, whereas the other at first has not. 
Spontaneous attention may be a primary mental activity. 
Interest is always secondary. It is a conscious phenomenon 
attaching to objects of which we have already had some ex- 
perience. When we seek to discover what attributes an 
object must possess in order to be interesting, we are forced 
back at once upon uninstructive generalities. We may say, 
for example, that all objects which call out emotion are 
likely to be interesting — in a broad meaning of the word. 
But we have instantly to admit that in the main we cannot 
say in advance of the actual test with each individual whether 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 365 

an object will call out an emotion or not. The peculiarities 
of personal constitution^ the vicissitudes of personal history, 
the reigning mood, these and a thousand other factors may 
all enter in to modify the reaction. 

In the same general way it is sometimes said that strange 
things are interesting. But this statement also has limita- 
tions of a serious character. Things may be so strange as 
to be utterly meaningless to us, and in such cases we are 
essentially oblivious to them. The behaviour of primitive 
peoples confronted for the first time with the paraphernalia 
of civilisation is replete with illustrations of this fact. 
Again, the affairs of our daily routine are said to interest us, 
because we are accustomed to them. If this assertion of in- 
terest in routine were always true, which, unfortunately, 
perhaps, is not the case, the explanation offered for the fact 
is evidently in fiat contradiction with the implication of the 
previous instance of interest in strange things. Indeed, con- 
sidered impartially, it is difficult to discern any reason why 
either strange or familiar things should be per se interesting 
simply by virtue of their familiarity or strangeness. 

The moment we accept the view that the individual, as 
born into the world, has certain predispositions toward spon- 
taneous attention in given directions, just as he has native 
impulsive m.ovements, we instantly get a standpoint which 
renders intelligible the different forms of interest which dif- 
ferent individuals reveal, even though we may be quite unable 
to account specifically for the special interests which any 
particular person evinces. 

Attention and Interest as Organising Activities. — When 
we recall the fact that attention is essentially an organising 
activity, bringing into relation with one another the various 
objects toward which it is successively directed, we can readily 
appreciate how the existence of spontaneous attention should, 
at a very early date in the life of each of us, serve to estab- 
lish a positive and systematised predisposition to emphasise 



366 PSYCHOLOGY 

certain interests and obliterate others. To the child of 
strongly artistic bent everything is absorbingly interesting 
which touches in any way upon art^ and all other inter- 
ests tend to become subservient to this^ on pain of absolute 
suppression. With most of us spontaneous attention runs 
out to welcome a miscellaneous range of objects and experi- 
enceS;, and the development of a single paramount interest is 
often slow or altogether wanting. 

There is nothing incompatible (crede expert o) in a boy's 
being thoroughly interested in both fishing and geometry. 
The incompatibility arises only when one interest assumes 
the right to control the other permanently^ or at improper 
seasons. While spontaneous attention is, therefore^, pri- 
marily responsible for the differentiation of our interests^ the 
subsequent course of development involves the coordination 
of these interests with one another. In this process we call 
into play in varying measures our reflective abilities and 
thus elaborate^ each for himself^ a certain hierarchy of inter- 
ests. Not that this undertaking is^ perhaps^ ever accom- 
plished with a definite recognition of what is in progress. 
But as adults we can all discern that such a process has 
actually been going forward in us. In childhood our inter-' 
ests were chaotic^ disconnected^ unordered. In maturity they 
are fairly well marked out and related to one another. Many 
of the adolescent and childish interests have disappeared alto- 
gether. The interests in toys and in dancing may have 
evaporated. In their stead we find interests in the home^, in 
our professions^ in certain kinds of amusement^, etc. 

It may be said that^ after all^ this elimination and precipi- 
tation of interests which we find characterising adult life is 
again explicable in the last resort only by the action of spon- 
taneous attention. This is probably true in so far as it 
means that in the last analysis the explanation of what vitally 
interests us is to be found in our native constitution. But 
in distinction from the cruder expressions of this spontaneous 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 367 

attention in childhood and infancy^ the conditions in later 
life reveal a much more reflective and rational exercise of the 
function. Moreover, we have at this point to remember once 
again that man is from beginning to end a social creature; 
he is constantly under the pressure of social influences; and 
a large part of the explanation for the special directions which 
attention finally does take, in building up the interests of 
each one of us, will be found to lie in the effects of the social 
rewards and punishments meted out to us by our companions. 

Put a child into a group of religious ascetics to grow up 
and the chances are that the only interests which will really 
get opportunity to live and thrive will be those which- are 
conformable to the ideals of such a community. On the 
other haTid, let him be cast among pirates, and a totally dif- 
ferent group of interests will blossom forth. This is not be- 
cause the child is a hypocrite. It is simply because one of 
the most universal of all objects of spontaneous attention is 
found in the attitudes and actions toward us of those among 
whom we live. A certain amount of repression from them 
may not stifle a vigorous interest. But many a taste which 
might in a kinder social climate take root and bring forth 
-rich fruit dies ere it is fairly planted, because of the frosts 
of social disapprobation. 

Interest a Dynamic Phase of Consciousness. — Interest evi- 
dently represents the spontaneous, dynamic side of our 
psychical make-up. The self is in a very true sense reflected 
in one's interests. It would be truer to say that a person^s 
emotional reactions disclose his interests than to say, as is 
occasionally done, that his emotions call forth interest. 
Furthermore, in the light of our preceding analysis, it seems 
clear that the interest which we are said to feel in strange 
things finds its basis in the expansion of our selves. Not 
the absolutely strange thing do we find interesting, but the 
thing familiar enough to be vitally connected with our past 
experience and still novel enough to be felt as a definite en- 



368 PSYCHOLOGY 

largement of this experience. As we saw long since^ all such 
expansive states of consciousness are^ other things eqnal^ 
intrinsically agreeable^ and they afford a definite appeal to 
the accommodatory function of attention. The interest of 
the customary^ the habitual^, has a precisely similar basis. It 
is only as we find ourselves and feel the experience as a real 
expression of ourselves that routine is interesting. What- 
ever is purely mechanical in it is simply disregarded in 
consciousness. 

The artist is the man above all others to whom routine is 
utterly delightful^ not because it is easy^ not because it fosters 
the caprices of his indolence^, but because it calls into action 
the very heart of the man himself. Moreover, let it not be 
overlooked that the artisan or the professional man who thus 
delights in his work for its own sake is in so far an artist — 
the carpenter, the engineer, the lawyer, and the teacher. 
Each is making, or doing, that which gives overt expression 
to his own inner nature. So far as routine is disagreeable, 
apart from sheer physical fatigue, it is because it does not call 
out an expression of the real self, nor of its keener interests. 
It is executed in spite of those interests, and against their 
violent and increasing protest. Let it be understood that we 
are not here discussing the ethics of routine, the righteousness 
nor unrighteousness of our feelings, either of satisfaction or 
disgust. We are simply pointing out the conditions under 
which routine is interesting or otherwise, and showing their 
connection with the sources of interest in the strange and the 
novel. 

Moral Decisions. — To many persons moral decisions which 
are made with great effort and under the influence of active 
conscience appear to be the most genuine expressions of the 
will, the most typical instances of volition. Such experi- 
ences are felt to reveal more intimately and deeply than any 
others the real nature of our personal character and power. 
The man of strong will is thus the man who can wrestle sue- 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 369 

cessfully with temptation^ feeling to the uttermost the 
poignancy of his desire^ but still opposing to it the irresistible 
force of his ideal. It behooves us, in view of this widespread 
feeling about the significance of decision with effort, to con- 
sider the important facts in the case. Are we, indeed, in 
these decisions made conscious of some inner and unique 
constituent of the mind which on other occasions is wanting, 
or at all events lurks so surreptitiously in the background as 
to defy detection ? 

Volition and Effort. — Broadly speaking, there are three 
main forms of voluntary processes involving the conscious- 
ness of effort. We neglect for the present, at least, the case 
of mere physical effort, such as is involved in lifting a heavy 
weight. We are conscious of effort when we attempt to keep 
our attention upon some tedious and uninteresting subject. 
We are also conscious of effort when we must make some 
momentous decision, where a correct choice evidently involves 
a large number of complex considerations which we are not 
certain we have properly in mind, or when we are in doubt 
as to our possession of the precise facts. Such cases need not 
implicate our own personal desires on either side. Compli- 
cated financial problems often illustrate such situations. In 
both these cases, however, the feeling of effort does not at- 
tach primarih^ to the fact of choosing among the alternatives. 
It is a feeling of strain and tension which we refer to the 
whole intellectual process. It partakes more nearly of 
fatigue than of any other single namable experience of a 
familiar kind. The third iype of case is represented by the 
moral crisis in which we find ourselves beset by some im- 
moral but alluring project that thrills every fibre in our 
being with passionate desire. To this tempest of evil incli- 
nation there is opposed only the pale, uninteresting sense of 
duty ; and yet, little by little, conscience makes itself felt, and 
when the moment for decision comes we gather ourselves 
together and, throwing the whole power of our will into the 



370 PSYCHOLOGY 

struggle^ we throttle our passion and save unsullied our 
fidelity to the right. Experiences of this kind have time out 
of mind been the mainstay of defenders of the freedom of 
the will. Here;, they say^ is an obvious and undeniable case 
where the will comes in to bring about action in the line of 
the greatest resistance^, instead of in the line of least resist- 
ance, as the mechanical philosophers insist must always 
occur. We must decline to enter upon the question of the 
freedom of the will, which metaphysics has preempted, but 
an analysis of the psychology of effort we may profitably 
undertake. 

Analysis of Effort. — Two antagonistic theories have been 
maintained about the feeling of effort in such a case as that 
of our last illustration. Certain psychologists have held that 
under such circumstances we are immediately and unmistak- 
ably aware of our own will. Others insist that accurate in- 
trospection discloses to us nothing peculiar to experiences of 
this character beyond the consciousness of many sensations 
of muscular strain which originate from the tense condition 
of the voluntary muscles, especially those connected with 
respiration. We must distinguish very sharply, in dealing 
with this disagreement, between the fact of volitional activity 
and its mental representative which informs us directly of 
this activity. Undoubtedly crises of the kind mentioned do 
involve volitional activities of the most basal character. Un- 
doubtedly, too, they do reflect in the most exact manner the 
real moral nature. But it does not follow from this that we 
are conscious of a conative element in consciousness akin, as 
an element, to sensation. The issue here is one of introspec- 
tive accuracy, and on the whole the evidence seems to favour 
the second of the two theories we have mentioned. Our con- 
sciousness of effort is a consciousness of the emotional kind, 
in which a very large group of sensations of muscular tension 
is present. Commonly, too, the affective tone of the ex- 
perience is distinctly unpleasant. 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 371 

Consciousness of Mental and Moral Effort an Emotional 
Experience. — If we call to mind what reactions we customar- 
ily exhibit under circumstances of the kind suggested by our 
illustrations^ we find that our breathing is checked and spas- 
modic^ our faces set, our brows contracted, our hands 
clenched, etc. All the muscular attitudes contribute their 
sensory increments to the total consciousness of the moment, 
and observation certainly shows that our sense of the effort 
involved in a moral decision runs essentially parallel with the 
intensitv of these motor reactions. When the muscles are 
quiescent we have no keen sense of effort; when the feeling of 
effort is strong the muscular tensions are always in evidence. 
We have asserted that the consciousness of effort, so far as it 
belongs to ethical decisions, appears when desires are opposed 
to ideals. We shall discuss the nature of desire in a moment, 
and we shall then discover confirmatory facts tending to bear 
out our contention that ordinarily the feeling of mental effort 
(disregarding the consciousness of fatigue) is itself essen- 
tially emotional. Its general nature can, therefore, be iden- 
tified with that of the other emotions which we have already 
discussed. It is a Dhenomenon connected w^ith the mutual in- 
hibition of competing motor tendencies. Until the moment of 
decision has arrived these impulses are dammed up in the or- 
ganism itself, and we meet the consequences in the form of 
tense motor contractions. When the choice has been made the 
inhibitions fade away and coordinated movements expressive 
of the decision are promptly executed. It has already been 
suggested that ultimately the utility of these muscular rigid- 
ities is to be found in the added stimulation which they fur- 
nish us, augmenting thus the weakening momentum of our 
onward moving selective activities. Their function would 
thus be found, like that of the accommodatory movements in 
attention, in their contribution to the amount of conscious 
activity available. 

After all, it must not be forgotten that however much our 



372 PSYCHOLOGY 

consciousness of effort may depend upon certain sensations 
of strain and tension^ the psychical import of the feeling is 
essentially that which the most spiritualistic psychologists 
h9,ve assumed. Effort means conflict within the self^ within 
consciousness; it means lack of harmony among our ideals 
and interests and aims ; it indicates imperfect systematisation 
and coordination among the mental processes themselves. 
The act by which the dominant system of interests and ideas 
manifests its sovereignty and executes its behests is the 
^^ fiat '^ of our last chapter. All this is perfectly compatible 
with our finding it distinguished by certain peripheral sen- 
sory conditions by means of which we come subjectively to 
know of it. 

Volition and Impulse. — Although we readily recognise and 
admit that the volitional processes in childhood are^ in their 
origin^ dependent upon impulses^, it is not so obvious that 
adult conduct is in the same manner bound up with impulse. 
Nevertheless^, this is the fact^, as we shall now see. Indeed, 
the statement is often made that the development of volition 
is neither more nor less than a process of reducing our 
impulses to order^ and that a mature character is simply 
one in which the impulses are thus subordinated to some 
systematised principles. Instead^ therefore, of the concep- 
tion that a developed will or character is one in which all 
primitive impulses have been extirpated or repressed^ we have 
the conception of these impulses as continuously operative, 
but operative in a rational and coherent way, rather than in 
the chaotic fashion characterising childhood and infancy. 
This view is unquestionably correct in its general implica- 
tions, and an examination of the nature of desire will assist 
to exhibit the fact. 

Volition, Desire, and Aversion. — -Large portions of our 
daily acts occur with a minimum of conscious supervision 
and volition. This fact we have had repeated occasion to 
emphasise^ and we have found its explanation in the estab- 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 373 

lishment of complicated habits reflecting our customary 
routine. There is^, however, a highly important residuum 
of acts in which our wills are most vividly enlisted. This 
group of acts appears whenever we step outside the beaten 
path of habit, or when habits are threatened with violation. 
The clerk who is tempted to cut his work in order to see a 
ball-game, the young man who is considering an advanta- 
geous offer to change his occupation, the school-boy whose at- 
tention to his books is diverted bv the allurino; cries of his 
truant comrades, these afford illustrations of the workings 
of desire. N"ow, if we pass in review the various things 
which we seriously wish for ourselves, we shall find that the 
vividness of the desire is proportional to the extent to which 
some one or more of our rudimentary impulses and emotions 
are enlisted. Objects which do not appeal to any of these 
primary instinctive reactions do not call forth intense desire. 
At most, we sporadically '' wish '^ for such things. But the 
wishing is of a relatively cold-blooded, incidental kind, utterly 
distinct from the hot, passionate, craving which we feel for 
objects of the first clfiss. Moreover, along with desire, which 
is the positive aspect of the phenomenon, must be mentioned 
aversion, which is like desire in its emotional character, but 
which discloses to us the negative phase of the process. 

The experiences in which we are conscious of the definite 
yearning of desire, or the positive distaste of aversion, are, 
therefore, those which directly or indirectly call into activity 
such impulses as play, love, sympathy, grief, ambition, van- 
ity, pride, jealousy, envy, fear, and hate. Without these or 
their congeners to colour the occasion we rarely meet with 
anything which we could justly call either desire or aversion. 
It hardly needs to be pointed out that in many cases desire 
and aversion involve several such emotional factors. Pride 
and love may be thus conjoined, sympathy and grief^ fear and 
envy. 

Although the term desire is generally applied to the more 



374 PSYCHOLOGY 

intellectualised forms of cravings we must add to the list the 
so-called appetites. Bain has classified these as the ap- 
petites of hunger, thirst, sex, sleep, repose, and exercise. 
They are all immediately concerned with recurrent organic 
conditions, but they may readily be developed in such con- 
nections as to take on a relatively ideal character. Whether 
or no they come to occupy a place coordinate with the other 
forms of desire depends upon the degree to which they 
chance to secure such an integral connection with our general 
intellectual life and character. 

Desire.— In its most overt and definite manifestations 
desire appears, therefore, to be a form of consciousness in 
which the blind, impulsive character of a pure instinct is 
modified by a knowledge of the object which will satisfy the 
impulse. There is on this account, however, little or no 
lessening of the restless disposition or craving to express 
the impulse. Desire accordingly gains its power and 
vivacity from its impulsive nature; it gains its rationality 
from experience. After our emotions and instincts have been 
once expressed, we know in the future what to expect of them. 
Desire is the conscious condition which represents this knowl- 
edge of what an emotional impulse means. It is the craving 
unrest for the object which we know will give us pleasurable 
satisfaction. To be sure we desire some things which we 
know will cause us pain, but in such cases it may be fairly 
questioned whether there is not always, save in occasional 
pathological cases of the insane type, more or less reference 
to some secondary or ulterior gratification. The tired mother 
insists on watching by the bedside of her sick child, even 
when others are ready to take her place and spare her the 
exhausting ordeal. 

Aversion. — Aversion, on the other hand, is the precisely 
polar condition in which again we realise the significance of 
the object which is mentally present to us, and recognise, on 
the basis of our experience, that the realisation of it will be 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 375 

disagreeable. We consequently draw back from it and 
strive to shun it. Paradoxical as it may seem, both desire 
and aversion are apt to be dominantly unpleasant; desire, be- 
cause of the temporary thwarting of inclination and impulse ; 
aversion, either because of the dread of permanent thwarting 
of some one or more cherished and agreeable experiences, or 
because of some positive menace of pain. To be sure, there 
is often a certain exquisite delight in this discomfort of 
desire, as the poets have repeatedly recognised. 

Basal Nature of Desire in Formation of Character, — It 
should be evident from the foregoing discussion that desire 
occupies an extremely fundamental position in the develop- 
ment of will and the formation of character. In the first 
place, the actual psychical condition presented by desire af- 
fords us a striking instance of the great salient features of 
the mind with which all our previous study has been con- 
cerned. In it we find elaborate thought processes at work; 
we find conspicuous affective factors and we see the whole 
onward moving conative character of consciousness brought 
clearly to light. Moreover, it discloses to us an epitome of 
the character at any given moment. / What one really desires 
is the best possible index of the sort of character one really 
possesses. 



CHAPTEE XXII 
CHARACTEE AND THE WILL 

Volition and Character.— Inasmuch as consciousness is a 
systematising^ unifying activity^ we find that with increasing 
maturity our impulses are commonly coordinated with one 
another more and more perfectly. We thus come to acquire 
definite and reliable habits of action. Our wills become 
formed. Such fixation of modes of willing constitutes char- 
acter. The really good man is not obliged to hesitate about 
etealing. His moral habits all impel him immediately and 
irrepressibly away from such actions. If he does hesitate^ it 
is in order to be sure that the suggested act is stealings not 
because his character is unstable. From one point of view 
the development of character is never com_plete^ because ex- 
perience is constantly presenting new aspects of life to us^ 
and in consequence of this fact we are always engaged in 
slight reconstructions of our modes of conduct and our atti- 
tude toward life. But in a practical common-sense way most 
of our important habits of reaction become fixed at a fairly 
early and definite time in life. 

The general manner of speech^ the mode of dressings purely 
personal manners^ etc.^ are commonly fixed before twenty-one. 
The general attitude toward moral and religious ideals is 
likely to be gained sometime during^ or just after^ adolescence. 
Professional habits come somewhat later. Speaking broadly, 
hoVf^ever^ for the average individual the dominant tone of his 
habitS;> social^ moral, aesthetic, and intellectual, is set by the 
time he is thirty. By this time the direction of his desires 
and his interests is likely to be finally formed, and for the 
rest of his life he will but elaborate and refine upon this 
stock of tendencies. 

376 



CHARACTER AND THE WILL 377 

When we recall the fact that habit depends ultimately 
upon the preservation of physical changes in neural tissues^ 
we see how powerful an ally, or how frightful an enemy, 
one^s habits may be. The man who has led a life of kindli- 
ness and sobriety not only has a fund of agreeable sentiments 
upon which his friends and neighbours can rely, he actually 
could not be mean and selfish and sordid without an hercu- 
lean effort, for his nervous system contains imbedded in its 
structures the tendency to altruistic deeds. 

Moral Development. — When we describe the development 
of character as a process in which our impulses become co- 
ordinated with one another, we have in mind a very specific 
course of events. Thus, for example, the little child in 
learning obedience to his parents may be engaged with the 
impulses of love, of fear, and of anger. We may suppose that 
the child has been forbidden to do something. This occasions 
disappointment and anger. Disobedience is threatened. 
The parents may appeal to the child^s affection or to his 
fear of punishment in the effort to secure the desired action. 
The competing impulses must be ordered with reference to 
one another. Anger and obstinacy may carry the day, love 
may win, or fear may triumph. I^Tow, whatever the actual 
outcome, the set given to character by the result is undoubted 
and will make itself manifest on the next occasion when 
obedience is at stake. 

At first sight it might seem as though in such a ease as that 
of our illustration the question were not one of coordinating 
two impulses, but rather of allowing one to suppress the 
other. This is the view which many good persons take of 
the whole course of moral education. But this theory is 
based on a fatal misapprehension of both the psychological 
facts and the ethical desirabilities of the situation. 

If one judged simply by external appearances, one might 
assume that when the child yielded to the appeal to Jiis 
affection the impulse of anger was wholly rooted out. This, 



37^ PSYCHOLOGY 

however^ is not strictly the fact. The impulse has met the 
obstrnction of an opposing impulse^ and the act which follows 
involves a coalescence of the two^ an ordering of the two with 
reference to one another. Obedience given under such con- 
ditions is far more than the mere execution of certain muscu- 
lar movements. It is a mental process in which the self^ with 
its capacities for anger and love and a thousand other emo- 
tions^ gives expression to its innermost nature. The tend- 
ency to react with anger upon any thwarting of desire is a 
part of the make-up of the self. The disposition to show love 
and obedience to the parent is also an integral part of it. 
When the two impulses come in conflict^ one is not merely 
suppressed. Eather is the tendency to action diverted into 
other channels by means of the substitution of the competing 
impulse. Under such conditions obedience is not the purely 
mechanical thing it may later becom^e — a things like eating or 
dressings which concerns sheer muscular dexterity. It is 
rather a vital outpouring of the self^ in which the seeming 
suppression of the anger is only a suppression as regards 
certain movements^ for the disposition to make the angry 
response has entered in to colour with a deeper and more 
lasting hue the beauty of the submission to love's dictates. 

All seeming suppression of impulses will be found to be 
based upon the expression of other impulses^ not upon sheer 
brute repression. To root out a bad impulse we must set 
some contrary impulse to work. Moreover^ in a character 
built up in this way the control of the morally more danger- 
ous desires becomes a source of increased richness and power 
in life. Tennyson expressed this truth when he said 

" That men may rise on stepping stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

Only one who has really suffered can truly sympathise with 
grief. Only one who has been really tempted and tried can 
be morally altogether reliable. ' 



CHARACTER AND THE WILL 379 

The Will. — When we bring all our considerations together, 
it becomes obvious that the proposition from which we set 
out early in our work is true in a very wide and deep sense. 
Mind we have found to be^ indeed^ an engine for accom- 
plishing the most remarkable adjustments of the organism 
to its life conditions. We have seen how the various features 
of cognitive and affective consciousness contribute each its 
quota to the general efficiency of the reaction which the or- 
ganism is able to make upon its surroundings^ physical and 
social. We have seen finally that in the will we have the 
culmination of all these activities of control. But it mu^t 
have been observed that we have not found any specific 
mental element or event to which we could give the name 
will. 

ISTo, the term will is simply a convenient appellation for the 
whole range of mental life viewed from the standpoint of its 
activity and control over movement. The whole mind active^ 
this is the will. To say that there is no such thing as the 
will (a statement which troubles many right-minded per- 
sons) is simply the psychologist's perverse w^ay of saying that 
mentally there is nothing but tvill. There is no specific 
mental element to be called w411, because all states of con- 
sciousness are in their entirety the will. 

We have seen this doctrine justified in the last two chap- 
ters, w^herein we have discovered volition concerned with 
impulses, with pleasure and pain, with emotion, with ideas, 
with sensations, with memor}^, with reasoning, and with every 
form and type of mental operation. We have observed the 
evolving control beginning with the mere master}'- of move- 
ments, passing from this to more and more remote ends, for 
the attainment of which the previously mastered movements 
now available as habitual coordinations are employed, until 
finally we find the mind setting up for itself the ideas which 
we csiilideals, and by means of these shaping the whole course 
of a lifetime. What these ideals shall be for any one of us 



38o PSYCHOLOGY 

depends upon the operations of interest and desire, and these 
in turn depend in part upon the sort of tendencies which we 
have inherited, and in part upon the forces of our social and 
physical environment. We may prate as much as we please 
about the freedom of the will, no one of us is wholly free 
from the effects of these two great influences. Meantime, 
each one of us has all the freedom any brave, moral nature 
can wish, i, e., the freedom to do the best he can, firm in the 
belief that however puny his actual accomplishment there 
is no better than one's best. 

Training of the Will. — A deal of twaddle is sometimes 
indulged in as to the training of the will. The will is spoken 
of as though it were a race-horse which once a day requires to 
be given its paces about the track. What is obviously in the 
minds of persons who discuss the question in this way is the 
wisdom of some form of moral calisthenics, e, g., self-denial, 
constructive and aggressive altruism, etc. N"ow, it is not 
necessary to enter into an extended argument upon this 
special recommendation, although it seeras evident that apart 
from a deep moral interest in the thing done it could only 
produce moral prigs. If the moral interest is there, the 
artificial gymnastics will be superfluous. Life is rich in 
opportunities for larger and more intelligent kindliness. 
But disregarding this form of moral discipline, the develop- 
ment of volition evidently is not a thing to be hastened by 
any special form of exercise, because the will we have seen to 
be simply another name for the whole mental activity. Any 
purposeful intellectual occupation affords means of develop- 
ing certain features of control. Play develops certain other 
features. Art develops volitional processes in one direction, 
mathematics develops them in another. So far as a well- 
developed will consists in the ability voluntarily to direct 
one's attention effectively and for unlimited periods in defin- 
ite directions (and this certainly is a very basal conception), 
all thoughtful activity facilitates its attainment. 



CHARACTER AND THE WILL 381 

Healthiness of Will. — The well-trained man is the man 
whose mind is stored with a fund of varied knowledge which 
he can promptly command when the necessity for it arises; 
he is the man who can keep his attention upon the problem 
in hand as long as necessary^ and in the face of distraction; 
he is, moreover, the man who, having paused long enough 
to see the situation correctly and to bring to bear upon it 
all the relevant knowledge he possesses, acts thereupon 
promptly and forcefully. Defects in any of these require- 
ments may defeat efficient action and proclaim the actor a 
person of feeble or defective character. 

The ignorant person cannot act effectively when nice dis- 
crimination and wide knowledge are necessary, as they often 
are. Even the learned person ordinarily cannot go far, pro- 
vided his attention is wayward and fitful. His effort is too 
disconnected ever to accomplish large results. The person 
who is flighty and precipitate is either a genius or a fool — 
commonly the latter. On the other hand, the hopelessly 
careful person, whose life is spent in a morass of doubt and 
indecision, balancing imponderable considerations and split- 
ting insignificant hairs — he, also, is likely to belong to the 
incompetents and inefficients. Evidently the attainment of 
a will which can fill all these requirements for the avoidance 
of pitfalls requires a training on every side of one's nature, 
requires a rich experience and a powerful dominant purpose 
running through it. All life offers us such training, and our 
success in building up a strong, rich character depends much 
more on liow we do our work than upon what work we do. 
There is no calling so humble that it may not afford scope for 
the expression and development of all the great human in- 
terests, if we really put ourselves into it, and not our mere 
labour. 



CHAPTEE XXIII 
THE SELF 

Before we can satisfactorily complete our sketch of the 
structure and function of consciousness^ we must turn our 
attention to the feeling of personality and selfhood. The 
normal human mind is never a mere string of states of con- 
sciousness. It is always a unitary affair in which the past, 
the present, and even the future are felt to hang together in 
an intimate personal way. In our previous study we have 
been obliged to examine now one aspect of the mind and now 
another^ but we have always emphasised this partial, piece- 
meal character of our method, and we must now attempt to 
trace in bolder outlines the contours of the whole, the salient 
features of the concrete, actual self. 

The Consciousness of Personal Identity. — ^Philosophers 
and psychologists have criticised with relentless vigour the 
tenahility of our common-sense notions of personal identity. 
Undoubtedly the basis of this conviction which we all have 
that our self continues in some way the same from moment 
to moment is extremely precarious from a logical and meta- 
physical point of view. But from the strictly psychological 
standpoint, so far as concerns the structure and function of 
consciousness, personal identity is as real as memory or at- 
tention. However much our thoughts may vary from time 
to time, however much our opinions may alter, however much 
our characters may seem to be transformed as the years go 
by, we still feel that as a personality we are somehow un- 
changed. We even feel this to be true, in some degree, of our 
bodies, which change consi^icuously as the days of childhood 

382 



THE SELF 3S3 

pass and the period of maturity and old age comes on. It is 
still my body, whether I am a child or an old man^ and it has 
always been mine, and never for a moment capable of con- 
fusion with the bodj^ of any one else. 

When we try to discern the most important psychological 
contributors to this feeling of identity, we discover two which 
are evidently of radical significance. The first of these is 
memory. Were we not able to identify among our various 
thoughts those which represent former experiences of our 
own^ it is certain that any feeling of personal identity which 
we might have would differ fundamentally from that which 
we now possess. Undoubtedly that peculiar use of the mem- 
ory process which we call anticipation plays an important 
part in this connection. The second factor is a persistent 
background consciousness of our own organism. When the 
bodily sensations and feelings are seriously deranged we 
always experience a strange sense of uneasiness and distress 
which is often wholly out of proportion to any actual pain 
that we may be suffering. Our general sense of bodily ex- 
istence^ then^ gives a fairly constant tone to our consciousness, 
and thus furnishes a certain impression of sameness or con- 
tinuit)^ Beyond question there are other phases of con- 
sciousness which contribute their quota toward the same end. 
But these two are certainly preeminent. 

It is a remarkable fact that our sense of the identity and 
continuity of our own personality is essentially unaffected by 
the interruptions which occur in the onflowing of conscious- 
ness. In coma, as in sleep^ consciousness may^ so far as we 
can discover^ be wholly suspended. Yet upon its return it 
once more claims its own from out of the past, and under such 
circumstances it ordinarily manifests no disturbance whatever 
of the feeling of personal identity. 

Subject-Object Nature of Consciousness. — If we examine 
from a more critical and reflective point of view the implica- 
tions of consciousness for the concept of the self, we come 



384 PSYCHOLOGY 

upon certain suggestive facts. To be conscious of an object 
involves not only some mental presentation of the object^ but 
also some subject to whom it is presented. Con — -sciousness 
(knowledge over against something, for some one) has no 
other possible meaning than just this. Indeed;, so irrefutable 
does this idea of consciousness appear to be^, that it has but 
rarely been called in question, although many of the infer- 
ences which have been founded upon it have been severely, 
and often justly, attacked. 

This fact of the bipolar nature of consciousness has been 
the basis of many doctrines and has been designated by many 
different terms. Thus, James speaks of the self as 
'^ knower '^ and " known,^^ of the '^ I ^^ and the " me.^^ Kant 
recognises the empirical self and the pure Ego, There are 
advantages and disadvantages attaching to each of these 
terms, and there can hardly be said to be any accepted usage. 
The reader is, therefore, free to accept that which best 
pleases him. 

Meantime, it must be clear that all of our descriptions and 
analyses of the foregoing chapters have had primarily to do 
with the object half of consciousness, the content side of the 
mind. Perceptions, images, emotions — ^the things we are 
aware of — all belong to this objective phase of consciousness. 
To be sure, we could not apparently be aware of such ex- 
periences were it not for the subject phase of the mind. But 
once we have admitted the reality of this subject factor, 
we seem to have done all we can v/ith it. It persistently 
avoids direct observation, because, forsooth, it is itself the 
observer. 

If we regard the self as characterised by these two indis- 
soluble aspects, and inquire what then becomes of personal 
identity, we have to admit at once that there can be no un- 
changing nature in the object side of consciousness. The 
contents of consciousness are constantly undergoing altera- 
tion, and we noticed in an earlier chapter that we probably 



THE SELF 385 

never have exactly the same thought twice. Identity of any 
thorough-going kind is thus out of the question here. Of 
the subject side of consciousness it seems impossible to predi- 
cate anything save its existence. Its function, to be sure, 
must apparently remain fixed. It m.ust always be the 
knower annealing the various elements of our experience 
into some sort of unity. But beyond this functional identity, 
which we can infer with some confidence, we have little evi- 
dence as to any of its possible attributes. Clearly, then, the 
personal identity in which common-sense believes rests on 
the evidence of some of the more unreflective and immediate 
influences such as we mentioned a few lines above. 

We may remark in passing that this necessity for a subject 
of our states of consciousness has constituted one of the 
strongest rational considerations adducible in support of the 
belief in the soul. But it is to be said, on the other hand, 
that there are logically possible alternatives to this identifica- 
tion of the knower with the soul, so that we cannot defensibly 
be dogmatic even here. 

Consciousness as Internal and External. — Before leaving 
this general topic one more distinction must be mentioned. 
Consciousness, when considered merely in its objective aspect, 
may be thought of in either of two ways. Thus, a perception 
of a cart may be thought of as external^ in so far as it reports 
to me something outside my mind. But in so far as the 
perception is my experience, it may be thought of as internal. 
It is sometimes said, accordingly, that all consciousness 
viewed as external is essentially cognitive, knowledge-bring- 
ing; whereas, viewed as internal, it is feeling, self -reflecting. 
Certain of the classifications of feeling to which we referred 
in earlier chapters are based upon this conception of the 
internal reference discernible in all consciousness. But it 
should be evident at once that this distinction is by no means 
synonymous with that between the subject and object aspects 
of mental life. 



386 PSYCHOLOGY 

Development of the Consciousness of Self. — Despite the 
extensive study given of late to the subject of this section bj^ 
Baldwin (to whom the author is indebted for certain views) 
and others, we cannot as yet be said to have any generally 
accepted theory, and the description which follows is offered 
tentatively as the author^s present conception. 

It seems reasonably certain that the distinction which the 
child at an early age makes between his own personality and 
that of others is as completely submerged in the vague con- 
scious continuum of infancy as is the distinction betv/een 
different sensations. When it begins definitely to differen- 
tiate, it seems not unlikely that the first step consists in 
remarking the differences which characterise the behaviour 
of persons and the behaviour of things. Things and persons 
thus get set over against one another. Things are relatively 
stable and fixed in their actions. Persons, on the other hand, 
are highly irregular and unpredictable. Of course, the 
child^s consciousness of both things and persons is from the 
beginning his own private personal experience. But it may 
safely be asserted that there is no awareness of the self in a 
^^ self-conscious ^^ way until the vague apprehension is at- 
tained of other persons as distinct from things. 

As the child gradually attains control over his movements, 
things tend in certain particulars to obey his impulses in a 
more immediate way than do persons. They can be seen, 
reached, touched, and moved more confidently and more 
regularly than persons. On the other hand, they show them- 
selves altogether more imperturbable than persons to indirect 
modes of control. If the child cries, parent or nurse 
promptly responds. Things remain just where they were. 
Furthermore, persons show themselves able to furnish many 
comforting and agreeable experiences in the way of caresses, 
food, and clothing, which things of their own initiative 
rarely or never afford. The .moment imitation becomes 
possible, persons offer the most satisfactory stimuli. What 



THE SELF 387 

they do can^ by virtue of the similarity of structure in vari- 
ous organisms, often be approximated by the child. We 
might mention other distinctions which the child must feel, 
but these will suffice to suggest the lines along which the de- 
velopment takes place. 

When this resolution of the objective world into persons 
and things is once achieved, there is every reason to think 
that the precipitation of self-consciousness follows close at 
hand, if it be not, indeed, synchronous with it. The whole 
process must in the nature of the case be extremely inchoate 
and protoplasmic in character. N'evertheless, it must contain 
within it the essential elements for the more elaborate differ- 
entiations of adult life. Moreover, if this be in any way a 
true account of the genesis of self-consciousness, it is evident 
that such consciousness will, from the outset, be social in its 
constitution. The child remarks certain objects which be- 
have in a manner altogether distinct from other objects. 
These he comes to recognise as individuals, which he later 
calls persons. Something like their independence of action 
he comes to feel in himself. He naturallv identifies himself 
with them, and thus gives to his first dimly recognised con- 
sciousness of self the social JialUmarTc, Needless to add, after 
what has gone before in this book, the actual content of his 
consciousness is always in larger or smaller measure social. 
The relations in which he finds himself are social. The 
criteria for the reality of many of the things which he is 
called upon to accept are social. Language is social. By 
imitation he is plunged at once into social usages, and did 
space permit, and were it necessary, we might trace out the 
whole gamut of social infiuences which bound his self-hood 
on every side. But our primary point here is that the first 
definite self-consciousness of the child is a consciousness in 
which he identifies himself in some sort with others, defines 
himself in terms of agreement or disagreement with others. 

The fact should be emphasised, however, that the element 



388 PSYCHOLOGY 

of disagreement is quite as important, both for the child and 
for society, as the element of agreement or imitation. Every 
individual is in some sense a variant from the human norm, 
and in so far he is a contributor to the richness of human 
life and achievement. This variation may take the form of 
trivial peculiarities of manner and speech, of inventions of a 
scientific and practical character, of reforms in morals or art ; 
or it may be embodied in the harmless enthusiasms of a crank, 
or in the dangerous prepossessions of a lunatic. In each and 
every case the individual is making his addition to the store 
of social possessions. In finding that his consciousness of 
self necessitates his projecting himself against society, we 
must not, then, for a moment suppose that this means that 
he merely imitates others, and so arrives at the knowledge of 
his own Ego. It is in the character of variant from, the norm 
that the genius gets his paramount significance for the social 
organism. Society sometimes progresses by the slow accre- 
tion of incremental changes originating from the conduct of 
large numbers of commonplace individuals. But the great 
changes which lend themselves to confident detection and 
identification are commonly traceable to the towering 
personality of some genius. 

Doubtless in the earlier periods of childhood (after the 
consciousness of self as such has once become established) the 
actual content of such consciousness is largely personal and 
bodily — an awareness of impulses, of pleasures, pains, and 
the like. But as the mind develops and a broader appre- 
ciation is reached of the general integration of human life 
and the physical cosmos, this self-feeling spreads out to 
embrace larger and larger interests. The social factor un- 
folds into a vivid apprehension of the picture of ourselves 
which we may imagine to be entertained by various persons 
and groups of persons. Furthermore, we come increasingly 
to read into tlie motives and characters of others the peculiar- 
ities which introspection reveals within ourselves. In a 



THE SELF 389 

certain sense the vagueness which marks the beginning of 
self-feeling is never entirelj' lost. We come to include in 
our practical conception of ourselves so many things which 
lie outside of us^ that the lines which separate the self from 
the not-self inevitably become hazy. Thus, our bodies, our 
clothing, our family, our friends, our fortune, our club, our 
church, our country — these, and a thousand similar things, 
get identified in a more or less intimate way with our self, 
which unfolds more and more to take in these widening in- 
terests. Meantime, there is always a residuum whose status 
is neither clearly within nor without the self. 

The question may be raised whether a child growing up 
alone on a desert island would fail to develop self-conscious- 
ness because of his inability to follow the course of events 
which we have described, with its emphasis on the distin- 
guishing between persons and things, and its further empha- 
sis on the social nature of self-feeling. The reply — resting 
on speculative probability — is that undoubtedly something 
corresponding to self -consciousness might develop under such 
conditions through the operations of imagination. But the 
content of such a self-consciousness, and the order and 
nature of the steps in its unfolding, would certainly differ 
radically from anything with which we have personal ac- 
quaintance. 

Ethical and Religious Aspects of the Self. — Although in 
a general way the consciousness of self is from the first 
social in its nature, it speedily takes on two explicitly social 
aspects, the moral and the religious, which warrant a few 
moments^ consideration. Among the very earliest of our 
social experiences are those of praise and criticism, reward 
and punishment for our deeds. Parents, guardians, and asso- 
ciates of all kinds unite in thus furthering or hindering our 
enterprises. The vivid feeling for the distinction between 
right and wrong is thus aroused in us at a very tender ^ge. 
As we come to have a definite consciousness of our own per- 



390 PSYCHOLOGY 

sonalitj;, we inevitably tend to array ourselves for or against 
the usages which have been thus imposed upon us. We come 
to appreciate something of the ground upon which they rest^ 
something of the advantages and drawbacks which attend 
their observance. We take as regards these matters a defi- 
nite conscious attitude toward society at large and our 
immediate associates in particular. We evolve a distinctly 
ethical self^ recognising certain obligations on our own part 
toward our fellows, and postulating a similar obligation for 
them in their treatment of us. 

As we grow older this conception of ourselves as moral 
persons with duties and obligations takes on a broader and 
more enlightened character. We extend our sense of respon- 
sible interest from our immediate family and acquaintances 
to our town^ state, and country, and often (among the more 
humanitarianly minded of us) we manage in a fairly definite 
way to include the interests of all mankind. Coincident with 
this expansion in the range of our moral selfhood is often to 
be remarked a growth in the intelligence of our appreciation 
of the real ethical situation. We come to detect more justly 
and more sympathetically both the grounds of our neigh- 
bour's moral ideals and the reasons for his occasional moral 
lapses, and we may become in consequence more helpful to 
him, as well as more valuable in furthering the general cause 
of moral progress in the world. Our moral self thus ex- 
pands both by intension and extension. 

The religious consciousness cannot ordinarily be severed 
altogether from the moral consciousness, yet the two mark 
quite distinct differences of stress which deserve separate 
treatment. The religious sentiments, in distinction from 
those of a merely moral sort, seem to involve a definite sense 
of personal relationship to a supreme, or at least superior, 
being. In the higher forms of religious faith this being is 
conceived as the incarnation of all holiness, righteousness, 
and truth. He is thus the one perfect companion for the 



THE SELF 391 

highest ideal self^ the one object worthy of complete rever- 
ence. Belief in such a being constitutes the essence of the 
most developed forms of religious faith^ and around such a 
belief cluster all the distinctly religious emotions^ such as 
reverence, awe, love, gratitude, and the feeling of personal 
confidence which we call faith. 

The full mental vision of such a being, with an accom- 
panying sense of our own unworthiness, is often the imme- 
diate forerunner of the cataclysmic experiences characterising 
certain forms of conversion. The whole moral and religious 
perspective of life is suddenly altered. We see ourselves and 
others in a different light, and the world takes on a new form. 
The frequency with which this special phenomenon is en- 
countered during adolescence has led certain psychologists to 
connect the experience with the deep-seated physiological 
changes which mark that period. But, however much of 
truth there may be in this contention, — and undoubtedly 
there is much, — we must still recognise the fact that sudden 
conversion, profound and genuine reformation, is a thing 
met with at all ages and under the most various conditions. * 

Disturbances of the Self. — The consciousness of self is 
subject to certain striking disturbances which merit a few 
words. The phenomena of alternating personality are 
among the most interesting of these. In the '' successive '^ 
form of this disorder a person may suddenly lose his memory 
of his past life, forget his name, his home, and his friends, 
and start afresh with a new name, a new occupation, etc. 
Often his temperament and character change simultaneous^ 
with this loss of memory. Whereas originally he may have 
been honest, cheerful, and vigorous, he now shows himself 
unreliable, pessimistic, and lazy. A few weeks or months 
later on he suddenly reverts to his former personality and 
recovers all his memories of his earlier life, although he has 
no vestige of recollection as to the events which occurred 
during the period of his altered selfhood. Cases are on 



39^ PSYCHOLOGY 

record where several characters have been assumed in this 
way, one after the other. 

In the case of '' simultaneous ^^ personalities we have a 
more complex and much more ambiguous condition. Here 
there seems to be in addition to the normal consciousness 
which superintends the ordinary business of life, a sort of 
^^ split-off ^^ consciousness, which is independent of the first 
and can be gotten at only in indirect ways. Moreover, as in 
the case of successive personalities, the temperament and 
character of these two selves are often very different. The 
one may be gentle and pious, the other riotous and profane. 
Sometimes this secondary self can be tapped by whispering 
to the patient while he is engaged in conversation with some 
one else, and then the responses may be written, apparently 
without any cognisance on the part of the normal conscious- 
ness of what has taken place. The memories of the two 
selves seem to be often distinct. Sometimes, as in alternat- 
ing personality of the successive type, the secondary self may 
know all about the primary self, without the converse ap- 
pearing to be true. 

These quaint modifications of self-consciousness are diffi- 
cult to reconcile with many of our prepossessions as to per- 
sonality and the connection of mind and body. But they at 
least serve one purpose of positive value. They contain an 
impressive warning against our natural disposition to assume 
that our own personal type of self-consciousness is neces- 
sarily the only type. Evidently the consciousness of self is 
susceptible of mutations like other forms of consciousness, 
and no generalisation about it should be accepted without a 
survey of all the facts. For instance, the disintegrations of 
personality which are met with in the various forms of 
insanity must be taken into account. 

Minor Variations of Self-Consciousness. — Less profound 
and less prolonged than the disturbances already mentioned 
are the changes in personality which characterise certain 



THE SELF 393 

forms of trance. In the genuine cases of so-called medium- 
istic trance the medium becomes more or less oblivious to 
ordinary sense impressions, and often appears to be half un- 
conscious. Under these circumstances he assumes the per- 
sonality of some other individual, usually some one who is 
dead, and his utterances purport to be expressions of the 
knowledge and the sentiments of the '' control/^ as the person 
is called who ostensibly speaks through the medium. Many 
of these cases of mediumship have been carefully examined. 
Most of them have proved fraudulent. A few appear to be 
perfectly genuine, so far as concerns the psychophysiological 
conditions manifested. But the interpretation of the 
phenomena is a matter upon which there exists the widest 
divergence of expert opinion. Most scientifically trained 
psychologists refuse to give these cases any serious consider- 
ation, beyond admitting the possibility of their representing 
a genuine abnormality like insanity. A few insist that we 
have here fairly convincing evidence of relations among 
minds which transcend all our usual modes of communica- 
tion with one another. 

In hypnotism, also, we may meet with cases of altered 
personality produced under the influence of suggestion. 
Changes in sensitivity, in motor control, and memory are not 
especially difficult to produce. The phlegmatic person may 
become choleric, the reserved person become flippant and 
rude, the irreligious become pious, etc. Commonly, if the 
hypnotic sleep has been deep, there is, upon awakening, little 
or no memory of what has occurred during the trance. But 
all the facts can usually be recalled during a subsequent 
hypnotisation. A curious phenomenon is that of post-hyp- 
notic suggestion. A person told to perform some action 
after awakening may have no recollection of the injunction 
upon arousing from the hypnotic slumber, but with^ few 
exceptions he will at the time designated faithfully execute 
the act. Facts of this kind have led to a good deal of need- 



394 PSYCHOLOGY 

less alarm as to the dangers of hypnotism. In point of fact 
it is practically impossible to force a person to do anything 
seriously offensive to his moral or aesthetic sense of the right 
and the decent. Moreover, persons of normal make-up can- 
not be hypnotised against their wills — at all events not until 
the process has been performed so often as to become more or 
less habitual. A thing much more to be feared in our day 
is the auto-suggestion of a hypnotic character by virtue of 
which mobs and great crowds give way to the wildest and 
most beastly excesses. Although hypnotism undoubtedly has 
therapeutic value, it should not be indiscriminately cultivated 
by untrained persons. 

Dreams afford a familiar instance of disturbed personality. 
Sometimes this is manifested simply in the ridiculous judg- 
ments which we pass upon dream situations, and the absurd 
sentiments which they call forth. Occasionally, however^ we 
actually seem to have become some other person. Despite 
the frequent occurrence of dreams, no wholly satisfactory 
theory of their causes . and conditions is yet at hand. Un- 
doubtedly sensory stimulations, partly from the external 
senses, partly from the viscera and other intra-organic 
sources, are largely responsible for the beginning of dreams. 
Undoubtedly, also, the higher forms of systematised control, 
the '^ apperceptive activities '' of many authors, are tempo- 
rarily in abeyance. Although most of us would maintain 
that we often have dreamless sleep, it has been vigorously 
urged that we dream all the time during sleep, and that 
consciousness is consequently never altogether interrupted. 
Certainly it is true that we frequently forget our dreams with 
marvellous rapidity, and we ordinarily find that we are 
dreaming when awakened. But while these considerations 
afford a measure of presumptive evidence in favour of the 
hypothesis, they are not conclusive, and the weight of 
opinion unquestionably regards dreamless sleep as a frequent 
occurrence. 



THE SELF 395 

The Subconscious and the Unconscious. — Manj'- striking 
and characteristic experiences are connected with regions of 
our personality which lie distinctly below the level of clear 
consciousness. Consciousness does not terminate with sharp 
edges which mark it off definitely and finally from the non- 
conscious. On the contrary, as was maintained early in our 
work, there is a gradual fading out from a focal centre of 
clearest consciousness toward a dimmer region of partial con- 
sciousness, which we may designate the zone of the subcon- 
scious. This subconscious area again gives way to a region 
of entire non-consciousness. 

To the activity of the subconscious we are probably in- 
debted for many of our unreasoned impressions and senti- 
ments, for many of our unexpected ideas, for certain of our 
unreflective movements, especially those of the habitual 
variety. Not a few of our personal preferences and preju- 
dices are probably referable to influences originating here. 
Such phenomena as those of automatic writing with the plan- 
chette, where persons may write considerable numbers of 
words without any clear idea of what is being written, belong 
to the border-line of influences lying between the subconscious 
and the unconscious. Taken all in all, subconscious factors 
must go to make up a very respectable portion of our total 
personality, and no doubt are accountable for many of the 
characteristics which sometimes cause us to wonder at our- 
selves and question whether or no we really have the kind 
of character we supposed. 

The unconscious has been made in recent years the great 
panacea for all psychological and philosophical difficulties. 
Whatever one cannot explain otherwise may be explained by 
the action of the unconscious. The asserted facts of telep- 
athy, clairvoyance, crystal-gazing, shell-hearing, hypnotism, 
and all the phenomena of spiritualism, not less than the 
metaphysical perplexities of personality, mind, matter, and 
their interrelations, have been treated bv the universal elixir 



396 PSYCHOLOGY 

of the unconscious. JSTeedless to say, our modest business at 
this point is with no such majestic influence as all this sug- 
gests. The term unconscious has two proper uses in 
psychology. It is, first, a limiting concept set over against 
consciousness of every kind; whatever is not conscious is un- 
conscious. Evidently this use of the term is largely negative 
in its implication. As a positive concept the unconscious is, 
in the second place, practically synonymous with the physio- 
logical. Thus, to say that an unconscious factor entered in 
to determine certain of the movements of our voluntary 
muscles is simply to affirm that certain neurol activities, 
whose obvious counterparts we cannot detect in consciousness, 
have contributed to the total mass of motor excitations. In 
this sense the unconscious ceases to be a sheer enigma, and 
becomes a more or less convenient term wherewith to desig- 
nate those marginal neural actions which evidently modify 
the reactions we make, without, however, producing notice- 
able mental changes. 

Summary. — If we take stock of the various points which 
we have canvassed in this chapter, we see that although the 
self undoubtedly manifests tendencies toward the systematic 
unification of its own experiences, it is far from being a sim- 
ple unity. It is highly complex in constitution, and in many 
particulars highly unstable. It is distinctly and character- 
istically a life phenomenon, with periods of growth and 
expansion, periods of maturity, and periods of decay and 
disintegration. But after all, the feeling of selfhood is the 
very core of our psychical being. About it are gathered all 
the joys and all the miseries of life. However much a 
critical philosophy may shake our confidence in the implica- 
tion of the feeling, the fact of its existence is for each of us 
the one absolutely indubitable fact. 



INDEX 



Abnormal, consciousness, 391 ; 
psychology, 3. 

Abstract ideas, 214. 

Abstraction, 214. 

Accommodation, motor, in at- 
tention, 82 ; of lens, 99. 

Acquaintance, 120. 

Acquisitiveness, 303. 

Action, muscular, varieties of, 
48, 283. 

.Esthetic feelings, 271, 281, 
337f. 

Affection, as elementary phase 
of feeling, 257. 

After-images, 111. 

After-sensations, see after- 
images. 

Agreeableness as affection, 257- 
259. 

Alimentary sensations, see sen- 
sations, organic. 

Alternating personality, 391. 

Altruistic emotions, 296. 

Amoeba, 19. 

Analysis, sensory and intellec- 
tual, 86-89. 

Anger, 299, 320. 

Annelids, nervous system of, 
20, 21. 

Animals, reasoning of, 252. 

Aphasia, auditory, 39 ; motor, 
39; visual, 39. 

Apperception, 127. 

Aristotle's illusion, 132. 

Association, simultaneous, 89 ; 
successive, 89, llOff. ; cere- 
bral basis of, 171 ; important 
factors in, lllff.; by contigu- 
ity, 174; by singularity, 
174/.; by contrast, 175; de- 
sistent and persistent, 176. 

Association centres in cortex,34. 



Attention, and adaptation of 
sense organ, 82 ; change nec- 
essary to, 76; and field of con- 
sciousness, 64/f.; motor fac- 
tors in, 82; relation to inter- 
est, 362ff.; attention and 
will, 345; varieties of, 68; 
involuntary, 70 , non-volun- 
tary, or spontaneous, 69 ; vol- 
untary, 68 ; simultaneous to 
different objects, 79; selec- 
tive character of, 67; as 
mental activity, 66. 

Audition, see hearing. 

Auditory centre, 32. 

Auditory image, 164. 

Auditory ossicles, fig. 43. 

Automatic acts, 48, 283. 

Automatic writing, 395. 

Aut nomic system, 45. 

Axis cylinder, 16, fig. 4. 

Axone, 16, 18. 

BAIN, 275, 374. 

BALDWIN, 65, 292, 358, 386. 

Belief, 338. 

BERKELEY; 150. 

Biology and psychology, 8. 

Black, see colour. 

Blind-spot, fig, 46. ^ 

Bodily expression and emotion 
316, 334. 

Brain, structure and functions 
of, and connection with con- 
sciousness, 21-45. 

Brightness sensations, 109. 

CALKINS, 175. 

Calmness, as affective element, 

258. 
Canals, semicircular, 98, 105. 
Cell-body, 15/f. 



397 



398 



INDEX 



Cerebral laws and association, 
171. 

Cerebrum, 32. 

Cerebellum, 32. 

Change in field of conscious- 
ness, 76. 

Character, Chapter XXII. 

Child psychology, 3. 

Chromsesthesia, 202. 

Choice, see volition. 

Circulatory sensations, see sen- 
sations, organic. 

Clearness in attention, 66. 

Coalescence of sensations, 126. 

Cochlea, figs. 43, 44. 

Cognition, see Chapters Y. to 
XII. inclusive. 

Cold, sensations of, 103 ; neural 
basis of, 93/. 

Colour blindness, normal pe- 
ripheral, 112 ; abnormal, 101, 

Colour, complementaries and 
mixtures, 110 ; sensations of, 
109. 

Comparative psychology, 4. 

Comparison, process of^ 86, 218. 

Complex tone, 109. 

Conation and attention, 66 ; and 
will, 353. 

Concept, nature of, 208, 215 ; 
and image, 209 ; function of, 
215 ; change and growth of, 
216ff. ; and meaning, 203 ; and 
judgment, 227. ^ 

Conscience, feeling of, 337. 

Consciousness, appearance of, 
50; definition of,- 1 ; relation 
of to the nervous system. 
Chapter III, ; motor aspects 
of, 283, 346. 

Contiguity, association by, 
174/r. 

Contrast, in colour, 112; in 
space perception, 153 ; in as- 
sociation, 174f. 

Convergence of eyes, 99. 

Coordinations, primary, 283 ; 
acquired, 294 ; Establishment 
of control over, 53/f., Chap- 
ter XX. 

COPE, 291. 

Corpora quadrigea^ina, 22, 28. 



Corpus callosum, 37, figs. 21, 
25, 26. 

Cortex, cerebral, 32-45, figs, 18- 
22. 

Corti, organ of, fig. 42. 

Cranial nerves, 31, fi.g, 18. 

Curiosity, 301. 

Currents in nerves, see nerve 
currents. 

Cutaneous sensations, see sen- 
sations. 

DARWIN, 327. 

Deaf-mutes, 217. 

Deduction, 240. 

Dendrite, 16, 18. 

Desire, analysis of, and re- 
lation to volition, 374ff. 

DEWEY, 327. 

Difference, feeling of, 87. 

Difference limen, see Weber's 
law. 

Diffusion, law of, 53. 

Disagreeableness as affection, 
257. 

Discrimination, as analytic at- 
tention, 86 ; relation to as- 
sociation, 89. 

Dispersed attention, 81. 

Dissociation, see discrimina- 
tion. 

Distance, perception of, 150. 

Dizziness, sensation of, and re- 
lation to semicircular canals, 
105. 

Double personality, see alter- 
nating personality. 

Dura mater, 21. 

Duration, perception of, 156 ; 
of sensations, 115 ; of sensa- 
tions in relation to feelings, 
261. 

Ear, figs. 42-44. 

Earthworm, nervous system of, 

fig. 8. 
EBBINGHAUS, 23. 
Effort, feeling of, 369. 
Ego, see self. 
Embarrassment, 320. 
Emotion, Chapters XYIII., 

XIX. ; bodily factors in, 316 ; 



INDEX 



399 



origin of, 326; relation to in- 
stincts, 315. 

Emulation, see rivalry. 

End-organs, 91-101. 

Envy, 305. 

Epistemology, 9. 

Ethical feelings, 271, 337. 

Excess discharge, law of, 348/f. 

Excitement, as affective ele- 
ment, 258. 

Experimental psychology, 5. 

Extensity, in sensation, 115 ; in 
space perception, 142. 

Faith, 391, 

Familiarity, feeling of, 188, 195. 

Fear, 298, 319. 

Feeling, Chapters XIII. and 
XIV. ; elements of, 257 ; 
classifications of, 270 ; rela- 
tion to emotion, 337. 

Folk psychology, 3. 

Forgetting, 192. 

Fovea, 99, fig. 46. 

Freedom of will, 380. 

Fringe of consciousness, 66. 

Fusion, or coalescence, 126. 

General idea, 208. 
Generic idea, 210. 
Genetic psychology, 4. 
Genius, and association, 174. 
GORDON, 85. 

Grey, sensations of, ee bright- 
ness. 
Grief, 320. 
GROOS, 306. 
Gustatory sensations, see taste. 

Habit, formation of, 52/f . ; re- 
sults of, 58 ; ethical signifi- 
cance of, 61 ; relation to voli- 
tion, 60 ; in thought, 61. 

Hallucinations, 135. 

Hardness, consciousness of, 103. 

Hatred, 299. 

Hearing, sensations of, 108 ; 
cortical centre for, 32 ; end- 
organ of, 96, figs. 42-44. 

Heat, sensations of, 103. 

Hemianopsia, 39, fig. 23. 

Hemispheres, connection with 



volition and memory, 38; 

structure of, 32. 
Humour, feeling of, 324. 
Hunger sensations, 106. 
Hypnotic Ltates, 393; 

Ideas, connection with images, 
165 ; and concepts, 208 ; mo- 
tor, 353. 

Identity, personal, 382; modi- 
fications of, 391/f. 

Illusion, 132. 

Images, distinction from sen- 
sation and perception, 163 ; 
types of, 165 ; function of, 
176 ; relation to idea, 165 ; 
to volition, 352-354. 

Imagination, Chapter YIII. 

Imitation, as instinctive, 307; 
as volitional, 358. 

Impulse, Chapter XVII. 

Inattention, 81. 

Induction, 241. 

Inhibition, and volition, 55, 352. 

Instinct, Chapters XV. to 
XVII. inclusive ; origin of, 
291; value of, 293; relation 
to emotion, 315 ; variability 
of, 289 ; human, Chapter 
XVI. 

Intellectual feeling, 270. 

Intensity of sensation, 113 ; re- 
lation to affective conscious- 
ness, 261 ; and Weber's law, 
114. 

Interest, nature of, 363 ; rela- 
tion to attention, 365 ; to 
volition, 362-368. 

Introspection, 4. 

JAMES. 66, 120, 142, 171, 175, 
185, 205. 297, 315, 316, 345. 

Jealousy. 305. 

Judgment, analysis and forms 
of, 225f. : relation to concep- 
tion, 227/f . : to reasoning, 
236/f. ; genesis of, 229/f. 

Kina^sthetic, sensation, 94. 105 ; 
image, 164; function In es- 
tablishment of motor control, 
344, 354. 



/jOO 



INDEX 



> 



Knowledge, development of, 
218/f., 2S2ff.; theory of, 9. 

Labyrinth, figs, 43, 44. 

LANGE, 316. 

Lapsed intelligence, theory of, 

291. 
Laughter, significance of, 333. 
Limen, 114. 

Local sign, nature of, 147. 
Localisation, of functions in the 

hemispheres, 32/f. 
LOTZE, 147. 
Love, 305. 

MARSHALL, 275. 

Meaning, apprehension of, 20Sff, 

Mediums, 392f. 

Medullary sheath, 16. 

Medulla oblongata, 22, 30, fig, 
18. 

Memory, Chapter IX., affec- 
tive, 265 ; analysis of, 185 : de- 
fects of, 194 ; and forgetting, 
192 ; physical basis of, 186 ; 
distinction between memory 
and imagination, 184 ; rela- 
tion to recognition, 187/jf. ; 
improvement of, 196/f , ; idio- 
syncracies of, 202. 

Mental activity, see attention 
and effort. 

Mental blindness, see aphasia, 
visual. 

Metaphysics, 9. 

Mind, meaning of the word, 2. 

Modesty, 297. 

Molluscs, nervous system of, 20, 
fig. 9. 

Mood, 335. 

Morbid psychology, 3. 

Motion, sensations of, images 
of, see kinsesthetic. 

Motor aphasia, 39. 

Motor region of cortex, 34. 

MUENSTERBERG, 275. 

Muscular sensations, see kin- 
jesthetic. 

Nerve-currents, nature of, and 

rate of conduction, 19. 
Nerve-endings, see end-organs. 



Nerves, structure of, 14ff. ; 
functions of, 14. 

Nervous system, central, 21^".; 
autonomic, 45. 

Neurilemma, 17. 

Neuroglia, 18. 

Neurone, definition of, 15. 

Neurones, peripheral, 23 ; corti- 
cal, 32 ; subcortical, 24. 

Noise, 108. 

Object, perception of, 80, 119, 
122 ; fixation of attention and 
change of, 76. 

Occipital region of cortex and 
vision, 33. 

Odour, see smell. 

Olfactory end-organ, 94-95, figs. 
39, 40. 

Olfactory region of cortex, 33. 

Optic end-organ, see retina. 

Organic selection, theory of, 
292. 

Organic sensations, see sensa- 
tions. 

Otoliths, 98. 

Overtones, 109. 

Pain, as sensation, 93; its re- 
lation to affection, 259. 

Partial tone, 109. 

Passion, 335. 

Passive consciousness, 75„ 

Perception, Chapter VL; and 
sensation, 118; and' idea- 
tional activities, 163; neural 
basis of, 137; of space and 
time. Chapter VII. 

Personal identity, see identity. 

Philosophy and psychology, 8. 

Physiological psychology, 6. 

Pia mater, 21. 

Pitch, 108. 

Play, 306. 

Pleasure, as affective element, 
257. 

Practical reasoning, 235. 

Present, the specious, 156. 

Pressure, sensations of, see 
touch. 

Productive imagination, 167 ; 
relation to reproductive im- 
agination, 169. 



INDEX 



401 



Psychical dispositions, 192. 

Psychology, definition of, 1 
methods of, 4; fields of, 3 
relation to philosophy, 8 
to the natural sciences, 7; to 
education, 10. 

Psychophysics, 6 ; and charac- 
ter of human organism, 11/f. 

Quality, of sensations, 101 ; 
consciousness of, as sensa- 
tion, 118. 

Race psychology, 3. 

Reasoning, Chapters XI., XII. : 
elements of, 224; forms of, 
Chapter XII. ; in brutes, 252. 

Recognition, sensory, 188; idea- 
tional, 190 ; relation to mem- 
ory, 187. 

Reflex action, definition of, 
286 ; relation to instincts, 
288; variability of, 286. 

Relations, between objects, feel- 
ings of, 205. 

Relativity of knowledge, 219. 

Relaxation, as affective ele- 
ment, 258. 

Religious feeling, 271, 389. 

Representation, general nature 
of, 161. 

Reproductive imagination, 167; 
relation to productive imagi- 
nation, 169. 

Resistance, consciousness of, 
104. 

Respiratory sensations, see sen- 
sations, organic. 

Retention of material in mem- 
ory, 192. 

Retina, 98/^., figs, 45-47. 

RIBOT, 296. 

Rivalry, 304. 

Rhythm, of attention,. 77; in 
judgments of time, 157. 

ROYCE, 258. 

Sameness, feeling of, as ele- 
ment in apprehension of 
meaning, 87, 204f. 

Satisfaction, feeling of, 331. 

Selection, in attention, 67. 



Self, Chapter XXIII.; develop- 
ment of feeling of, 385; dis- 
turbance of, 391 ; ethical and 
religious aspects of the, 389 ; 
identity of the, 382; social 
nature of, 387. 

Semicircular canals, 98, figs. 
43, 44; sensations from, 105. 

Sensation, Chapter V. ; and per- 
ception, 118; functions of, 
116; qualities of, lOl/f.; in- 
tensity of, 113 ; duration of, 
115 ; extensity in, 115 ; com- 
mon characteristics, 116. 

Sensations, of sound, 108 : of 
sight, 109; of smell, 106; of 
taste, 107 ; of temperature, 
103; of touch, 103; organic, 
106 ; of movement, 105. 

Sense organs, structure of, 93/jf. 

Sensorv c res in cortex, 32/f., 
figs, 18-21. 

Sentiment 336. 

Shyness, 299. 

Sight, see vision. 

Similarity, association by, 174fl^. 

Simple tone, 108. 

Size, apparent of objects, 147, 
152. 

Skin-senses, see sensations. 

Smell, sensations of, 106; end- 
organ, 94, fig, 39; cortical 
basis, 33. 

Sociability, 299. 

Social feeling, 271, 387. 

Social psychology, 3. 

Softness, consciousness of, 103. 

Soul, in psychology, 2 ; relation 
to the self, 385. 

Space, see perception of space. 

Span, or scope, of conscious- 
ness, 79. 

Speech, centres of, in cortex, 
40, fig. 19 ; as instinctive, 307. 

SPENCER, 292, 306. 

Spinal cord, structure and 
functions of, 24/jf.; figs, 13-17. 

Spontaneous attention, 69 ; re- 
lation to interest, 362. 

Starfish, nervous system of; fig, 
6. 

Strain, as affective element, 
258. 



402 



INDEX 



Strain sensations, 85, 370. 
Subconscious, the, 394. 
Substantive states of mind, 166. 
Symbolic nature of presenta- 
tional consciousness, 204. 
Sympathetic system, 45. 
Sympathy, 296/. 
Synsesthesia, 126. 

Tactile centre in cortex, 33. 

Tactile image, 164/. 

Taste, sensations of, 107; end- 
organ for, 95, fig, 41 ; cen- 
tres in cortex, 33. 

Telepathy, 395. 

Temperament, 335. 

Temperature, sensations of, 
103 ; end-organs for 93/f., 
figs, 36-38 ; centres in cortex, 
33. 

Tendons, sensations from, see 
sensations of movement. 

Third dimension of space, per- 
ception of, 149 /f. 

Thirst, sensation of, 106. 

Thought, order of, llOff, 

Threshold, see limen. 

Tickling, 104. 

Timbre, 109. 

Time, judgment of intervals of, 
156; memory of, 158. 



Tone, as auditory element 108. 

Touch, sensations of, 103 ; end- 
organs of, 93 ; cortical cen- 
tres for, 33 ; images of, 164/". ; 
in space perception, 147-149, 
154. 

Tympanum, flg. 43. 

Unconscious, the, 394. 
Unity of thought, 79ff. 

Vision, sensations of, 109; end- 
organ of, 98, figs, 45-47 ; cen- 
tre in cortex, 33 ; mental 
images of, 164. 

Volition, Chapters XX.-XXII. ; 
relation to attention, 345 ; to 
imagery, 343, 352 ; to impulse, 
347 ; to character, Chapter 
XXII. 

Voluminousness of sensations, 
142. 

Walking, 286. 

Warmth, sensations of, 103. 

Weber's law, 114. 

WEISSMANN, 292. 

Will, see volition. 

WUNDT, 258, 292, 328. 



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